


Nephalem

by Audrey_Lynne



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Actually Crowley has a lot of trauma, Anathema is Buds with Everyone, And we shall give him more, Angels and Demons Living Together, Angst, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Archangels Have Terrible Ideas, Bonding, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Being a Bastard (Good Omens), Crowley Was Not Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley and Anathema Device are Friends (Good Omens), Crowley has Trauma from the Fall (Good Omens), Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, FM Technology (Freakin' Magic), Five Years Later, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Heaven & Hell, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Hypocrisy, I apologize for nothing, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Magic, Misunderstandings, No Pregnancy, Oblivious Crowley (Good Omens), Other, Pining, Post-Finale, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, and she is a good bro, but also fluff, like super slow because these two are idiots, warning: some non-sexual consent issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 45,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audrey_Lynne/pseuds/Audrey_Lynne
Summary: After the Armageddon that wasn't, Crowley and Aziraphale settle into their new, independent lives.  They stay in touch with their human friends, but, mostly, are enjoying a quiet life in the countryside.All that is about to change.  Heaven and Hell have countless plans that operate on a need-to-know basis...and Aziraphale and Crowley didn't need to know.  But now they will, as they find themselves in the sudden possession of the byproduct of one of those plans.Or, "Crowley and Aziraphale end up with a baby and chaos ensues."





	1. Prologue: Doing All Right

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this fandom ate my soul. I wore the book out once upon a time, and adore the miniseries, so here we all. It's not all fluffiness and light, there shall be a lot of drama along the way, but I feel like this fandom supports that kind of thing.
> 
> Also, the pining will become more obvious later on, once things are more settled. I'll also be updating the tags as things happen, because this is about to be a wild ride. I bounced the idea off my BFF (my Crowley) at DragonCon and we spent quite awhile plotting it before she handed it off to me to complete. I'll be updating as often as I can, but I do work full-time and have grad school stuff, so please be patient! (And for those who are waiting for updates on my WIPs in other fandoms, my deepest apologies...but the muse wants what it wants these days. I'll definitely be returning to them as I can.)

* * *

It had been five years since the end of the world. In that time, children had grown, relationships had blossomed, and the Earth had flourished. It was far different than all those post-Apocalyptic movies suggested it might have been. There were no gangs of scavengers roaming the streets, for one. Of course, that probably had a lot to do with the fact that the Antichrist had somehow managed to become a reasonably well-adjusted teenager in the intervening years since the full destruction of the planet had been narrowly averted.

Meanwhile, though the collective hosts of both Heaven and Hell were still bitter over missing out on the war they’d been looking forward to for millennia, they had mostly moved on and were continuing to go about their everyday business. They were sure they’d get another chance someday. There were a few, though, that continued to harbor a serious grudge.

Zachariel, the youngest archangel, had been particularly excited about the Armageddon that wasn’t, given that it had been the primary reason he was created. He’d found purpose in his other duties since then, of course, but the fledgling angel was often frustrated as he thought of what could have been. He wasn’t alone. Charmaine, a dominion who was about the same age as him, never needed any prompting to join Zachariel in sighing about the war that had been so narrowly avoided. Often loudly.

As for the demon and angel involved in that bit of chaos, they had since moved into a small, comfortable cottage in the South Downs and were attempting to live lives of relative anonymity. Some days, that went more smoothly than others.

It hadn’t all been a bed of roses. (There _was_ a bed of roses in the garden, and they were glorious, but that was beside the point.) Aziraphale and Crowley were exactly alike and yet nothing alike. This, of course, led to the occasional spat…though they were certainly used to those by now. Overall, there were more good times than bad. They had accepted that, for all the times they drove each other batty, they were also the yin to each other’s yang – and, honestly, probably the only ones in the universe who could put up with each other’s quirks. It all worked out in the end. Granted, there _had_ been The Baptism Incident, but that’s another story for another day. Heaven and Hell had been leaving them alone, and at this point, neither Crowley nor Aziraphale cared if it was out of pure fear or anything else. The end justified the means…and they certainly had a few backup plans on standby should things change.

Among the angels, the upper administration had managed to keep rumors about a certain “Hellfire survivor” – they refused to say his name aloud, if they could avoid it – under wraps. A few sharply-worded threats from Beelzebub had managed to keep whispers about “the one who bathes in holy water” quiet as well. And, so, both organizations kept moving forward. Among all three realms – Heaven, Earth, and Hell – things seemed relatively stable for the time being.

That, of course, was about to change.

* * *


	2. Sheer Heart Attack

* * *

_Heaven_

Gabriel had long ago perfected the art of looking totally calm and composed when he was preoccupied with something – though Uriel insisted his left eyelid twitched ever-so-slightly when he was stressed. The archangel wasn’t _stressed_ so much as _busy_ lately; there were quite a few fledgling angels who had recently reached maturity, and without a war on, they needed jobs to do. And it was up to Gabriel to determine those jobs. Things had been so much easier in the beginning, he thought. They had been created for a purpose, with roles assigned by the Almighty that were basically placeholders until the Great War. Now, with no war – and young angels that had been created specifically _for_ it – the balance had shifted. It was hard to tell an angel that had trained for one role from the moment of their creation that any other job they were assigned was perfect for them. Gabriel hadn’t heard of any dissent in the ranks yet, fortunately, but he had to get more creative and consider inconvenient things like the fledgling’s _personalities_ when assigning tasks to avoid that. He missed the simpler times, when angels just did what they were told because that’s what they were supposed to do. They had free will, of course, but they didn’t question things nearly as often. Questioning everything was just a little too human.

“And where did questions get Eve?” Gabriel murmured to himself, gazing out over the vast expanse just outside Heaven’s gates.

“Absolutely nowhere,” a voice answered.

Gabriel was startled but covered it quickly. He turned to find himself looking into Zachariel’s brilliant blue eyes and smiled, reaching out to pat the young archangel on the shoulder. “Absolutely nowhere is right.” He scoffed, though not at Zachariel. “The last time a bunch of angels started asking questions, we had a whole rebellion on our hands and lost a third of the host.”

Zachariel chuckled quietly. “I doubt that’ll be a problem again. Michael told everyone what it was like down there. Somehow, it’s gotten even worse since they’ve had electricity! No one wants to risk falling these days, not that they ever did.”

Almost no one, Gabriel thought with an internal shudder, but he didn’t want to bring _that_ up. “No, I don’t suppose they would.”

Zachariel blew air between his lips with the naturally impatient air of one not long past adolescence. “I wish some of the humans would consider that choice more closely. Honestly, sometimes I wonder what makes the Almighty adore them so much.”

It was a question Gabriel had pondered himself, occasionally. God had created humanity, of course, but She had also created _everything_, initially. “They really do abuse the upper limits of free will, don’t they? I suppose there are some things we just aren’t meant to understand.”

“Like the _Ineffable_ Plan?” Zachariel asked, a mischievous grin on his lips.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “I’ve really begun to dislike that word.” The only thing that kept him from being more annoyed at the jab was knowing that Zachariel was every bit as put out about that whole mess as he was. 

Zachariel chuckled softly, though there was a sarcastic edge to it. “Honestly, I feel the same.” He turned around to lean back against the railing in front of them. “Don’t get me wrong – somehow, _some way,_ I know the Almighty must have anticipated this. She has other plans. I’m sure of it. I just wish…”

“We knew what those plans were?” Gabriel guessed.

“Exactly.”

Gabriel shrugged. “That’s been my only comfort in all this as well, that God wouldn’t have allowed it if She hadn’t somehow anticipated this wrinkle in the Plan. Free will does throw such a wrench into things.” He smiled, squeezing Zachariel’s shoulder. “We have all the time in the universe, and we know where we stand when the real war comes. That’s the important thing.”

Zachariel snorted, but not in time to hide his smile. “Are you suggesting this is Her way of teaching us patience?”

“Perhaps.” Gabriel rather liked that thought. He’d waited 6,000 years; what was a bit longer? And, as he knew all too well, their Creator worked in mysterious ways. “Don’t worry. Our war _will_ come. Someday. And you’ll be there to lead the charge.”

That made Zachariel’s smile widen, his eyes lighting up with anticipation. “Only if you’re at my side.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Gabriel promised.

Zachariel pushed away from the railing, stepping closer to Gabriel to squeeze his arm. “Thank you, Father. I think I feel better now.”

“Anytime.” Gabriel smiled fondly, watching the young angel depart. He was biased, of course, but he thought Zachariel was _clearly_ the best and brightest of the youngest crop of angels. How could he be anything less, though, with Gabriel and Michael as his parents? He must have been lost in his thoughts, because suddenly, Sandalphon was at his side as if he’d materialized there. Then again, Gabriel was partially convinced that, sometimes, Sandalphon _did_. “Oh. Hello.”

“Gabriel.” Sandalphon inclined his head in a friendly greeting before getting down to business. “All the fledglings have received their latest assignments. So far, things seem to be going well.”

“Good.” That was a relief. “Thankfully, the Program is over and done with, so that should be the last of it.” He shook his head. Unless the Almighty decided to create more angels, with jobs _She_ had in mind for them, he didn’t want to deal with any new angels again. Which reminded him. “Now, are we absolutely sure all of our agents on Earth received the updates?”

Sandalphon nodded, checking his tablet. “Most of them were reassigned after the War that Wasn’t anyhow. Only a couple of Powers left, keeping their records. Well, them and…” His face darkened ever-so-slightly. “Them and…the Survivor.”

Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes. Of _course_. Part of some unknowable plan or not, that particular angel seemed destined to continue being a thorn in his side. “And I assume, in all the chaos, the updates were forgotten.”

Sandalphon didn’t seem any happier about it than Gabriel was. “Unfortunately, yes.” He frowned, seeming lost in thought, then perked up. “He’s been his own agent, though. We shouldn’t have to worry about him, since he’s not in regular contact with any other angels.”

Gabriel scoffed. “Unless we consider Fallen ones.”

“Right.” Sandalphon looked contemplative, then suddenly worried. “However, given that both our sides are made of the same original stuff, _should_ we consider that?”

Gabriel’s eyes widened as the implications hit him. “_Sandalphon_…?” He wasn’t even sure what question he was trying to ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

Sandalphon swallowed hard. “I’ll have the team look into it.” And, with that, he was hurrying off, miracling another data pad into his hand as he departed.

Gabriel stood still for a long moment, willing himself not to think about any of this too much. He brought his hand down hard onto the railing, a low growl of frustration rising from his throat. He generally didn’t like to swear, especially not at _home_, but some situations called for it, and this was pretty high on that list. _“Fuck._”

* * *

_Petersfield, East Hampshire, England _

Domestic life had a certain charm to it. Of course, Crowley would have rather faced holy water – for real this time – than admit that out loud. They’d fallen into a comfortable routine, and woe to anything that tried to disrupt that. And, so, Crowley found himself highly suspicious when he noticed Aziraphale was acting in a way he could only describe as “off.”

“What’s with you?” The key was to appear concerned, but not _too_ concerned. He couldn’t go getting all mushy, after all.

The angel frowned, but then quickly attempted to cover it with a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a bit of a headache.”

Well, that didn’t sound too terrible. Their physical bodies weren’t immune to such ailments, providing they were brought on by stress and not actual illness. And Aziraphale could work himself into a tizzy quite efficiently. Crowley frowned as well, continuing to walk the fine line between caring and becoming a mother hen. “Maybe you ought to lie down.”

“Yes, perhaps…” It wasn’t that Aziraphale didn’t sound convinced; he sounded…distant. Distracted. If that was from the pain, it had to be a pretty significant headache. 

Crowley turned to grab his phone. “Lemme send Witch Girl a quick text. She always has some remedy or another up her—” He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence before he heard a solid _thud_ against the hardwood floors behind him. Turning to glance over his shoulder, Crowley found that the noise had been Aziraphale, who was now lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He jumped up, hurrying to stand beside the angel. "Ah, no... What d'ya go and get all overdramatic for, Angel? That's _my_ bag... Angel?" Crowley, deeply worried by trying to play it cool, proceeded to poke Aziraphale with the toe of his boot. "You’re not dead, are you? Again?"

Aziraphale didn't move, though he seemed to indicate that he wasn't dead with a groan of protest at being poked. It didn't wake him, but he clearly didn't care for it.

"All right. Good. Not discorporated.” That was a relief, but there was no way a headache should have rendered Aziraphale unconscious. Crowley knelt down, shaking Aziraphale a little more gently. “Angel?” Nothing but another soft moan. “Hmm.” As, at the moment, his fingers were working faster than his brain, he pulled out his phone and called Anathema Device. "Oy, Witch Girl! This is AJ.” So far, she was the only person, human or otherwise, he’d gotten to call him that. He rather liked it. 

“AJ!” As usual, she sounded _way_ too cheerful. “How’re you?”

“Yeah, I’m – well…” Crowley sighed. He wasn’t even sure if she could help; this might have been beyond human intervention, but it wasn’t exactly like he could just ring an ambulance, either. Things like this simply weren’t supposed to happen, and the only thing keeping him from panicking entirely was the fact that Aziraphale’s aura was still exactly as strong and warm as it should have been. “Aziraphale has, well...fallen...”

“_What_?” Anethema gasped, sounding horrified.

Oh, Heaven, not that. Crowley should have known she would have assumed he meant in the traditional supernatural sense. “No, no, not that. Literally. He’s…lying on the floor, right here. And he’s not dead. But I…I don’t know what he is. Can you come by and make sure he’s not just trying to get attention or something?”

Anathema still sounded concerned, but calmer when she replied. “AJ, that’s a ghastly thing to suggest.”

“Ghastly? Are you kidding me?” Crowley rolled his eyes. “Just get here.”

“I’m on my way,” she promised. “Dick Turpin’s all I’ve got right now, so it’ll take a bit, but I’ll get there.”

“Right...just don’t drive like your boyfriend does.”

“Husband, now,” she corrected cheerfully. “I’ll see you in a bit."

“Right.” Crowley set the phone down, then looked down at Aziraphale and frowned. He didn't know what to do. Compassion wasn’t his strongest suit, after so long in Hell, and he had no idea what was going on with Aziraphale, which set him more off-kilter. “I don’t suppose you’d like some tea?" he joked weakly.

There was, of course, no answer save for a quiet groan. Within seconds, Crowley's phone rang again, "Witch Girl" flashing up on the screen. Crowley grabbed it. “What?”

"AJ..." Anathema sounded as though she were about to ask something that should have had an obvious answer, but given that it was Crowley, she knew she had to ask. "Where are you now? The living room? Don't you think you should maybe put him in bed or something? It's going to take me a bit to get there."

"Bed?” He probably should have thought of that, but Crowley didn’t handle stress very well. “Do you know how heavy this bastard is when he’s dead weight?” He growled a bit and hung up the phone. She absolutely had a point, but he hated to admit it, so he wouldn’t. “Fine, let’s get you settled. And, for the record, if you’re faking this, I’ll kill you myself.” With a snap of Crowley’s fingers, Aziraphale was tucked securely into his bed. Crowley started to head back to the bedroom, but paused to throw some tea on, figuring that once Aziraphale came around, he was going to need it.

When Crowley walked into the bedroom a few moments later to check on the angel, Aziraphale appeared to be more comfortable, but he wasn't alone. A tiny, newborn infant was sleeping tucked against his chest, naked except for the loose blanket he was wrapped in. His hair was peach fuzz at best but appeared to be the same shade of blond as Aziraphale's. Crowley hurried to the side of the bed. “Oh, Angel…what have you gotten yourself into?” He had literally no idea what was happening or if Aziraphale even had anything to do with this, but what he did know was that angels did not reproduce, and babies did not fall out of the sky. Both of these facts were independent of one another and made sense, but what did _not_ make sense was the baby that _was_ here and the stirring angel beside him. 

Crowley sat on the bed, cautiously picking the baby up. The little thing stretched and yawned, opening its eyes to look up at him. It was fortunate that Crowley had been sitting on the bed, because he promptly dropped the child in shock.

The baby’s eyes had been identical to his own.

* * *


	3. Is This the World We Created?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the kudos, commenting, and bookmarks! I'm writing as fast as I can to get this out. <3

* * *

_Heaven - 1862_

While the Principality Aziraphale and the Demon Crowley argued in St. James Park, the Archangels Gabriel and Michael took absolutely no notice, because they were occupied with a different matter entirely. In fact, had he been so inclined, Aziraphale could have waltzed into Heaven and taken an entire fountain’s worth of holy water back to Earth with him and his superiors wouldn’t have batted an eye. They were busy dealing with the newest and tiniest archangel.

Michael held the babbling toddler in her lap for the purpose of keeping him still for at least a few moments. “There really has to be an easier way to do this.”

Gabriel nodded, though he did reach out to tousle Zachariel’s blond curls. “You would think so.” He chuckled, despite himself. “Cute as a cherub, but about half as useful at this stage.”

Michael raised a skeptical eyebrow, but she did laugh. “Half…that’s generous.” As if to confirm his mother’s assessment, the Archangel Zachariel, Judge of Souls, Angel of the Sun, and future champion in the War to End All Wars, began attempting to fit his entire fist into his mouth.

“Perhaps.” Gabriel sighed. “Elective enrollment in the Program _has_ been low. Probably because of this sort of thing.” At least, unlike human children, these young angels didn’t require food or sleep. Though…the idea of getting a break while Zachariel slept did sound nice. “Sandalphon’s suggested we advance to Phase Two.”

“Phase Two?” Michael had it in her to be far more ruthless than Gabriel, but even she looked hesitant. “Are we…sure that’s a good idea? There’s so much that could go wrong.”

Gabriel nodded, steepling his fingers together as he considered it. “If we’re going to boost our numbers before the war, in enough time for the fledglings to reach maturity…I don’t know that we have a choice.”

Michael nodded. “I hoped we might be able to lead the way, setting an example. And…well, for obvious reasons, for us, only the best would do.” She favored Gabriel with a soft smile. “But, if it’s for the greater good, we’ll do what we have to do.”

Gabriel returned her smile. “Don’t we always?”

Angels – and demons, though Gabriel tried to give them as little of his mental energy as possible – didn’t reproduce. They hadn’t been designed for it, as there had never been any need. If the Almighty wanted more angels, She could just create them. Except She hadn’t felt the need to in over 6,000 years, and the Great War was looming on the horizon. They’d lost a third of the host in the Fall and far too many to the First War that had accompanied it. There had been casualties over the millennia – mostly victims of Hell’s forces. And, with such a momentous war on the horizon, the Archangels felt Heaven needed to boost its ranks. Word from the Metatron made it clear that God was not planning any new angelic warriors in the near future. Besides, once word got around, somehow, that they’d even been asking, there was Hell to deal with. Literally.

The problem was, the Almighty could create new beings whenever She chose, whereas Satan could not. Even if God was not planning anything at present, if the Archangels were to get Her to consider it, Hell could have been left at a distinct disadvantage regarding the upcoming war. And, so, Hell had put all their lawyers on it; they had quite a few. An agreement had been reached – a brief collaboration, after which, both Heaven and Hell would go back to their usual repertoire of either antagonizing or ignoring one another. And, thus, with help from scientists on both sides, the Program had been born.

It was simple. Angels or demons who chose to participate would be given a serum that could activate the process by either chance, when the circumstances were right, or design. As members of both sides generally found the means by which humans conceived children distasteful, it would require an emotional connection instead. The resulting offspring would be formed from the essence of both parents – for those who chose to do so Earthside, the DNA of their human forms would become involved. That felt unpredictable, though, so there was a footnote in the announcement that recommended against it. The host parent would suffer from a brief energy drain following the offspring’s arrival, given that the process would be drawing upon their supernatural powers, but that was the biggest foreseeable inconvenience. Beyond _raising_ the offspring.

Not surprisingly, the demons hadn’t really taken advantage of the opportunity. Hell had mostly participated in the program for the purpose of slowing Heaven’s progress and also to ensure that they _could_ boost their ranks that way if they wanted to. Demons didn’t tend to form emotional connections with one another, however – and their interest in dealing with children was also low. There were rumors that two demons stationed on Earth had created their own little Hellspawn, but those had never been confirmed nor denied. 

Angelic participation had also been lower than hoped, as Gabriel and Michael had been discussing. Early on, Sandalphon had suggested a backup plan – Phase Two, in which angels would simply be _given_ the serum. It would be for the greater good, of course. The ends justified the means. The very existence of Phase Two was kept, of course, on a strictly need-to-know basis. (And, with Michael and Gabriel having already participated on behalf of the Archangels, it meant he and Uriel would be off the hook unless things got really desperate. That had probably been a factor in his boldness to suggest Phase Two, if everyone was being honest with themselves.)

Michael looked thoughtful as she set Zachariel down, defining invisible barriers that would fence him in with a flick of her wrist. He hadn’t figured out how to undo them yet, and for that, they were both grateful. “Have we heard anything about…the other side’s plans?”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, and I don’t think we need to worry about them on this one. Their insistence upon being involved…I think it was mostly that they _could_, not that they _wanted_ to.”

Michael rolled her eyes. “Typical.”

“Yes.” Gabriel sat next to her, trying to decide it if was appropriate to laugh as they watched Zachariel toddle straight into the barriers Michael had set, fall back, and frown at them as he considered his predicament. He allowed himself a purely selfish moment to cup Michael’s cheek in his hand. 

She raised her hand to cover his, permitting the indulgence, but as usual, couldn’t keep her mind entirely off of work. “Have our agents been able to follow up on the Hellspawn rumor?”

“Nothing yet.” It seemed so odd to him, if it was true, and there hadn’t been any orders from the Almighty to look into it. They were only following up for their own intelligence, to be prepared for anything the other side might try. “If it’s true – and that’s a big if – I’m beginning to wonder if it’s all part of the Plan. Normally, you’d think She would be interested in such a development.”

Michael inclined her head slightly, as if acknowledging his point. “One would think.” She watched Zachariel for a moment longer, then looked back at Gabriel. “So, we proceed with Phase Two?”

It wouldn’t have been Gabriel’s first option otherwise, but there _was_ a war coming, and that war had to be won. He nodded slowly. “We proceed with Phase Two.”

* * *

_Petersfield, East Hampshire, England – Present_

Many demons thrived in chaos, and Crowley certainly reveled in creating it, but that was when he wasn’t part of the whole mess. The soft noises of Aziraphale stirring were drowned out by the baby’s howling and Crowley’s cursing. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…”

Aziraphale groaned as he sat up, squinting at the scene around him. Relief that Aziraphale seemed to be all right warred with Crowley’s anxiety over the tiny intruder with his eyes, and the anxiety quickly won. “Whatever you did, Angel…_fix it_!”

“Whatever _I_ did?” Aziraphale rubbed at his temples, frowning. “What’s got you so chopsy?” He picked the child up, rearranging the blanket as he tried to get the kid to settle. “Hush now, lamb.”

“Chopsy? You’re calling me chopsy?” Crowley frowned, annoyed at the very suggestion. He wasn’t overreacting; Aziraphale was _under_reacting. “Just…look at him!”

Aziraphale glanced down. Babies loved him, and this one seemed to be no exception, as he was going back to sleep quickly. “What about him?” With his eyes closed, the baby looked perfectly normal. Crowley was about to reach out and poke the baby’s arm when the child opened his eyes on his own, peering up at Aziraphale. “Oh.” The angel turned to look back at Crowley. “What have you been playing at?”

“Me?” Crowley stood up, nearly boucing in place. His nervous energy needed somewhere to go. This was _not_ his fault. “You’re going to blame this on _me_? I found him in here with _you_!”

“Well, I’m quite certain I have no idea where he came from.” Aziraphale gasped, a smile coming to his lips as the baby turned his head and started sucking on Aziraphale’s finger. He wasn’t getting attached already, was he? It couldn’t have been a good sign that he tightened his grip on the kid. “Despite his…unusual eyes.”

Crowley sneered at both of them. This was too much. “Yeah, lovely eyes he’s got, hmm?” 

Aziraphale’s smile faded. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I simply meant they’re unusual for a human child. I rather like your eyes.” 

That compliment might have warmed him another time, but Crowley was too busy freaking out to let it. He grunted, trying to figure out how in the universe any of this could have happened. Demons and angels simply didn’t reproduce; there had to be _some _explanation. Naturally, he started with the worst possible conclusion. “You don’t s’pose this is a trap? Or Armageddon, Take Two? It’s not like I’ve been keeping up with Luci’s love life…if someone miracled in here and dropped the kid off while you were out…”

“That sounds a bit paranoid.” Trust it to Aziraphale to be reasonable. “Isn’t the simplest explanation usually correct?”

Crowley glared at him. “Give me _one_ simple explanation for this.”

“I…don’t know.” Aziraphale lifted the baby to his shoulder and Crowley tried to ignore the way the kid settled against his chest like he belonged there. “But I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

“Oh, no, Angel.” Crowley held up a hand. “_You_ can figure it out. I’m going to be busy getting very drunk, very quickly.”

* * *

Crowley actually liked kids – at the very least, he was adamant about not harming them, and that was only one of the many things that had set him apart from a lot of other demons. Babies, on the other hand…well, he didn’t _dislike_ them, but they made him uneasy. So small and fragile. They didn’t do much, near as he could tell, except sleep, cry, eat, and dirty their diapers. Not that he was against any of those things – except the dirty diapers – but it was often difficult to tell what they wanted or needed. For as cute as the little buggers could be, Crowley doubted he had the patience to raise one. (Not that it should have mattered. They were absolutely _not_ going to raise this child…right?)

Seeing his eyes on that baby had rattled him deeply. Even if Crowley had wanted a child of his own, he would have never wished his eyes on them. An innocent being, bearing one of the marks of his curse…well, nothing in a good and just universe should have allowed that. Though, as he knew all too well, the universe was rarely good and just. It was good _enough_, and even as little as an hour ago, Crowley had been satisfied with that much. Now? It didn’t matter how much Aziraphale might have liked his damned eyes. They were exactly that, _damned_, and now somehow this unexplainable child had them…right down to the subtle flecks of red around the irises.

This had to be some sort of sick joke. At least he’d already called Anathema and told her everything had worked out; she didn’t need to come. Crowley wasn’t ready to explain any of this to anyone; _he_ didn’t even understand it. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and was having a nightmare. 

Yes, a nightmare. That made sense, especially as Aziraphale came into the kitchen carrying the source of Crowley’s distress. Aziraphale must have miracled up something for the baby to wear, a fuzzy yellow sleeper. It wasn’t tartan, so this was clearly a dream. It just happened to be a very lucid one, the kind where Crowley could feel the whiskey burning at his throat as he knocked back another glass too quickly. “I think he’s hungry…he’s sucking on his fingers quite a bit. Do we have any milk?”

“Jussss’ the regular kind.” Damn, Crowley was hissing a little more than he’d have liked. He probably needed to sober up, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with any of this sober. “Yer…not ssss’posed to give lil’ babiesss milk from cowsss.” He’d heard that somewhere, probably some TV show that had been droning on in the background while he sulked in his office. “Gotta wait ‘til they’re older?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale frowned, as the baby started to fuss. “Maybe I should go into town?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, in a foul enough mood he found Aziraphale’s missing the easiest solution annoying rather than charming. He snapped his fingers and a baby bottle appeared, filled with a formula Crowley recalled seeing an advert for recently. He didn’t exactly feel like being creative.

Aziraphale brightened, giving Crowley a smile that would have melted him a bit under other circumstances. “Oh! Thank you.” He sat at the kitchen table, across from Crowley, giving the baby the bottle as they talked. Or…Aziraphale talked and Crowley tried to glare his empty glass into submission. “We probably should go into town, though. Grab a few things, while we figure this out.”

“We’re not keepin’ ‘im.” Crowley might have been more tactful if he’d been more sober. “Don’t get attached.”

“I didn’t say we had to.” Though something about Aziraphale’s expression suggested there was more behind his words, something Crowley couldn’t quite put his finger on. “But we do need to understand what happened before we make any decisions.”

“Sure.” Crowley managed to make that come out normally through sheer force of will. He didn’t like being a drunken mess when Aziraphale wasn’t right there with him. That felt like the angel had the upper hand, even if Aziraphale didn’t see it that way, and Crowley rolled his eyes and concentrated while he sobered up (and a bottle of Cardhu, fortunately capped, toppled off the table). “Okay, so we go grab a few things. The absolute minimum, for a day or two.” That would be long enough for them to figure things out and formulate a plan, right?

Aziraphale nodded. “Should we decide what we’re calling him?”

“Definitely not.” Crowley shook his head, scowling. “Names are how you end up keeping things, Angel. It’s a couple of days at most. Calling him ‘baby’ for that long, or whatever cutesy nicknames you’ll undoubtedly come up with, won’t do him any harm. Besides, whoever adopts him will call him something else anyhow."

“You’re probably right.” Despite his words, Aziraphale didn’t look convinced.

Crowley groaned. A part of him wanted to just go to sleep and hibernate for the next few months, but he knew if he did that, the baby would still be there when he woke up. Toys everywhere. And Aziraphale would probably name him something poncy like Augustus. Or horribly out of date like Hieronymus. Kid already had enough strikes against him as it was. “Fine, fine. You stay here with the kid. I’ll do the shopping run.” It was probably safer that way, making sure the bare essentials _stayed_ the bare essentials. It would give him a chance to clear his mind as well…or at least try.

* * *

Crowley had refused to get a bassinet, and Aziraphale had balked at the idea of having the baby sleep (not that the child did much sleeping that night) in their picnic basket, despite the fact that one had worked perfectly well for Adam. They’d compromised on the laundry basket, lined with a couple of blankets. Despite the fact that the laundry basket was next to Aziraphale’s bed, Crowley woke each time the baby cried. He tried to blame it on his acute hearing and not the fact that he was sleeping poorly. Perhaps he didn’t _need_ sleep, but in times of stress, he craved it. Of course, those were also the times sleep flipped him the bird and proved elusive…

Aziraphale looked entirely too cheerful over their morning croissants. Then again, he never slept as much as Crowley did anyway. “I hope the little one didn’t bother you too much last night.”

“Oh, he did.” Crowley flashed a cheeky grin at Aziraphale. “Hope you didn’t mind dealing with his squalling.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “He’s just a baby; he can’t help it.” As usual, the angel seemed determined to draw Crowley out of his misery. “Anyhow, I thought—”

Aziraphale broke off as both their heads turned toward the front door, sensing something at the same time. Crowley smelled a whiff of ozone in the air, like when Aziraphale had recently returned from a heavenly check-in. The same scent that surrounded him before he’d marched into hellfire… 

The doorbell rang, and they both winced. There was a Heaven-sent presence of _some_ kind outside; Crowley could feel it. So could Aziraphale, judging by the way his eyes widened and he swallowed hard. Had they finally reached the expiration date on being left alone? A cold shiver passed through Crowley’s body.

Aziraphale’s grip was tight on his tea cup as he set it down; he was clearly trying to remain calm but failing. When he turned, he looked as shaken as Crowley felt. “It’s Gabriel.”

* * *


	4. The Show Must Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I work this weekend and have a busy week ahead, so I hurried to get this chapter finished...especially since I was such a tease with that cliffhanger. Thank you all so much for your support; it means a lot, and certainly motivates me. Free Internet Bragging Points will be awarded to whoever guesses the theme to my chapter titles... :)
> 
> Fair warning for this chapter: that tag about Crowley being a bastard will apply... ;) Also, there are some weird consent issues (that are alluded to in the last chapter, with Phase Two), but nothing sexual. Still, fair warning, for those sensitive to it.

* * *

Aziraphale took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, visibly steeling himself as he moved to answer the door. Crowley followed, not even a full step behind. Part of him wanted to shove Aziraphale aside and get to the door first – and he certainly could, with his longer legs – but it was probably best to let Aziraphale lead. He had more practice in dealing with Gabriel, after all.

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder before the angel opened the door, a silent promise that he’d be there to back Aziraphale up, no matter what happened. It was not, however, a promise to behave himself. Aziraphale should have expected that by now. 

“Gabriel.” Only Aziraphale could have managed to make such a false smile look so genuine. “What a surprise.”

Crowley jumped in before Gabriel could respond, happy to remind the archangel of whose turf they were on. “Gabriel! Gabe! Gabby! So terrible to see you again.”

Gabriel certainly looked like an angel who was having his patience tested, and Crowley was happy to know he’d gotten under Gabriel’s skin. “This isn’t a social visit, I assure you.”

Concern flickered across Aziraphale’s face, but he masked it quickly. He didn’t have Crowley’s natural bravado, but he _did_ have the benefit of time away, these years they’d spent operating independently. If Crowley were to guess, he’d have said a part of Aziraphale probably still feared Gabriel, at least a little bit, but he was far more willing to stand up to the archangel these days. “I believe we had an agreement.”

“Yes.” Gabriel nodded. “And, trust me, I would love nothing more than to never see either of you again.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Crowley stage-whispered to Aziraphale dramatically, as if he could somehow sense that sort of thing. Aziraphale ignored his antics, but it got a tiny scowl out of Gabriel, so Crowley counted it as a win.

“At this point, I believe we can agree the feeling is mutual,” Aziraphale said, his tone exceptionally diplomatic. “But since this is business, what brings you by?”

Gabriel sighed. “Some time ago, there was an initiative…a collaborative effort, if you will, between Heaven and Hell, to boost the ranks prior to the Apocalypse.”

Crowley took advantage of Gabriel’s first pause, not even bothering to digest the information just yet. “Which we prevented.”

Gabriel shot him a withering look. “Yes, and thank you _ever_ so much for that.”

“You’re welcome!” Crowley flashed Gabriel the cheeriest of grins. “So, as you were saying?”

“Yes.” Gabriel sighed again in that deeply-annoyed way of his. Good. He wouldn’t be enjoying any of this visit, if Crowley had his way. “A program was developed.”

The pieces of the puzzle began to fit together in Crowley’s mind. Boosting the ranks, Gabriel’s sudden arrival after the kid showed up… “Wouldn’t have been a _breeding_ program, by any chance?” He hoped he was wrong and Gabriel would simply take it as more taunting.

Gabriel looked surprised for the barest moment before his exasperation returned, and Crowley got the sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. “Try not to make it sound so sordid, demon.” He began addressing Aziraphale directly. As if ignoring Crowley would make him stop. “We needed to strengthen our troops, given some of the losses we’d sustained over the millennia. The Program was voluntary…initially.” He muttered the last word, as if hoping they would miss it.

“Initially.” Gabriel should have known by now that Aziraphale missed very little when it came to words. Hidden meanings behind those words? Well, that was a thought best left for another day, Crowley figured. He had enough to cope with as it was. “But then it _wasn’t_, I presume?”

“Phase Two was the next step,” Gabriel explained. “The serum was delivered to a percentage of the host. Then, once activated, if the recipient formed the proper emotional bond with another celestial creature, a new angel would be created from both their essences.”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “Are you saying angels were _drugged_?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Not drugged, Aziraphale. It wasn’t _that_ sort of serum, for God’s sake. The emotional bonds were formed of the recipient’s own volition; the serum only allowed their supernatural powers to create the offspring.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Crowley interjected. The more he processed what he was hearing, the more he wanted to scream, so he quickly jumped back to something Gabriel mentioned earlier. “You said _Hell_ participated?”

“Yes,” Gabriel confirmed. “Likely so that they _could_, not that they particularly wanted to. Their lawyers only allowed us to proceed with the Program if they could be involved in the serum’s development and have equal access. As far as we know, nothing went further than that on their side.”

As much as Crowley hated to admit it – and he wouldn’t, aloud – Gabriel was probably right. The only Hellish offspring he knew anything about was Adam, and it would have been perfectly in keeping with Hell’s philosophy to get involved only to avoid being left out. “Fine. Then why here, why now? Why show up out of the blue, descending off your pedestal to confess all this?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. “And why is this the first I’ve heard of it?”

“You were occupied with Earthly affairs during the Program’s introduction.” Gabriel shifted, mirroring Aziraphale’s stance, though he didn’t cross his arms. “Phase Two was strictly need-to-know. Once the serum activated, the recipients were informed.”

“Forgive me if I doubt that you’ve come all this way to brief me on recently declassified information as a professional courtesy.” Aziraphale stood his ground, and Crowley nudged him encouragingly. “As Crowley asked, why now?”

“Following Armageddon—” Gabriel began.

“I like to call it Armageddon’t,” Crowley interrupted. He didn’t, really – that was a term the Them had come up with – but irritating Gabriel further was the important thing.

“Following _the events_…” Gabriel ground out before composing himself, “the serum was deactivated in all our agents. There was no longer any need for it, and all the fledglings had come of maturity anyhow, so there was no sense in starting all over again. However, in the chaos, it seems we might have missed—”

“Me,” Aziraphale finished. “Because you thought it would be easier to kill me instead, I assume?”

Gabriel groaned. “Can’t we let bygones be bygones? And, in any case…no, it honestly slipped our minds.”

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale. Despite the gravity of the situation that he knew was about to hit him like a ton of bricks, he couldn’t help but be amused at how much they’d managed to unnerve Gabriel. “What he’s saying is, mistakes were made.”

“When was it activated?” Aziraphale asked. 

“For the Earth agents, that was always unpredictable,” Gabriel admitted. “Something about this ridiculous planet’s influence. So…I don’t actually know.”

Crowley was beginning to suspect, in Aziraphale’s case, that was recently. If an emotional bond was what it took, they would have been in this mess sooner, otherwise. “So when did you slip it to him?”

Gabriel shot daggers at him, but he answered the question. No doubt, he’d guessed Aziraphale wouldn’t let him off the hook if he tried to get out of it. “I would have to check the records to be exact, but around 1863.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, softly, and Crowley could only guess at what that meant. _He’d_ spent all of 1863 asleep. 

Gabriel looked from Aziraphale to Crowley and back again, as if trying to assess them both. “Would it be too bold of me to assume that your interest in the details isn’t strictly academic?”

“Would it be too bold of me to say that archangels have terrible ideas?” Crowley countered. “Call it ‘Phase Two,’ call it a Program…call it whatever you like, I call it _bullshit_. Breeding angels, whether they liked it or not? Here on Earth, humans have written entire horror shows based on that concept! And that’s what they call it! _Horror_.”

“Don’t preach to me about horror, _teloc vovim_,” Gabriel snarled. Aziraphale gasped in dismay, his jaw setting in anger, and Crowley found himself hissing in response, baring his teeth as he let his fangs shift into this plain for just a moment. Calling him “demon” disdainfully was one thing; it was expected, even. But to invoke Enochian, to essentially call him “the Fallen One” in that ancient tongue…_that_ was personal. “Horror would have been risking losing a war that was meant to be Heaven’s final victory. Horror was watching your master weave his trickery, to have the nerve to think he knew more than Her. _Horror_ was watching good angels die in the battle that followed, so don’t you _dare_ speak to me about horror.” A dark silence lingered in the air around them, almost palpable. “What we did, we did for the greater good. For the sake of the Gr—”

Despite his fury – or, perhaps, because of it – Crowley couldn’t resist the opening. “If you say ‘the Great Plan,’ I’m going to pluck every last feather off your wings and shove them so far up your ass that every time you talk, you’ll tweet!”

The silence lingered, now more awkward than dark, until Gabriel brightened up with one of his trademark fake smiles. He’d actually invented those, as Crowley recalled. “So! Where is the little abomination?”

“Abomination?” Aziraphale blinked innocently, and Crowley was sure he was only pretending not to understand. 

Gabriel tried to glance past them into the cottage; fortunately, the limited baby paraphernalia Crowley had purchased was all in Aziraphale’s room at the moment, along with the kid himself. “As I said, you seem a little too interested in the specifics…and not particularly shocked, if you get my drift. Angels and demons, it’s the same basic star-stuff. So…where is it?”

Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height, which really wasn’t going to be particularly impressive given how tall _Gabriel_ was, but Crowley gave him credit for trying. “I appreciate your explanation of the situation, however late it might have been. Goodbye, now.”

“I can see right through you, Aziraphale!” Gabriel threw his hands up in frustration. “Even you have to know…a hybrid like that, it’s…too much for this world.”

“The actual Antichrist lives about an hour away from here,” Crowley pointed out. “Just for the record.”

Gabriel smiled again, that pure saccharine one of negotiation. Which Crowley also hated, but not so much as when he was pretending to be happy about something. “Listen. I doubt that either of you were…prepared for this. I understand. It’s a lot. We’ll take the…child. Neither of you have to worry about another thing. We’ll make sure everything works out, take care of everything for you.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “How so? You’d make sure he was safe?” 

“Absolutely.” Gabriel nodded. “Just bring him to me, and I’ll be off. You won’t have to worry about a thing.”

Crowley nearly choked as he realized what Gabriel _wasn’t_ saying. “You’re going to kill him.” As much as he wanted the kid safely elsewhere, that was the operative word – _safe_. “Safe – as in, you’ll be safe from him!”

Gabriel startled; he clearly hadn’t expected them to catch on. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, Gabs.” Crowley glared at him. “I’m not down with killing kids.” 

“Nor am I.” Aziraphale’s voice was gaining that calm but dangerous tone, and Gabriel clearly heard it, because he took a step back. “I’ll thank you to be going now. Has this ‘serum’ been deactivated?”

“Yes, the arrival of the offspring would have…” Gabriel waved a hand, as if he didn’t want to bother with the full explanation. “It was only designed for one use.”

Crowley snorted. “I’m guessing you got to dodge that bullet, huh? Too important to have to contribute to the ‘greater good.’” 

“As a matter of fact, Michael and I were _happy_ to participate in the Program,” Gabriel snapped. “Because it _was_ for the greater good.”

Crowley hadn’t actually cared; he’d been going after Gabriel’s rampant hypocrisy…but then the implications of that bit of information hit him, and he laughed. “Wait…wait, wait, wait…you fucked Michael? Figures…you’re both wankers.”

Gabriel stepped toward him quickly, as if he was considering hitting Crowley, but then stopped himself. Probably a good thing…for him. “Michael and I would never debase ourselves with such carnal relations.”

That reaction…Crowley couldn’t help but be intrigued. There was something more there, and he almost wanted to know more. If only to get more ammunition. “Ooh.” He remembered a rhyme that children on Earth had been chanting for decades. “Gabriel and Michael, sitting in a tree—”

Before Crowley could get to the rest of it, Aziraphale stepped back to grab him by the collar and drag him back inside, smiling at Gabriel as if absolutely nothing untoward had just happened. “Goodbye, Gabriel.” He shut the door, flipping the deadbolt. “Really, Crowley?”

“He did just offer to kill little Precious back there.”

“Fair enough.” Aziraphale shook his head, sinking onto the sofa. “He’s gone…but for how long?”

Crowley didn’t sense Gabriel any longer either, and that ozone smell had faded. “Don’t know. But I think we need to decide what we’re going to do with that kid, and quickly.”

Aziraphale gave him a look Crowley couldn’t quite read, but he moved to his bedroom, lifting the baby out of the laundry basket and cradling him. Crowley followed. “Did your side ever mention anything like this?”

“Certainly not.” Crowley was pacing as the implications really sunk in, as the anxiety built. He needed more space, and he moved into the hallway, then the living room. He wasn’t meant to raise a child, by any means, and now that Heaven knew a demon/angel hybrid existed, Hell couldn’t be too far behind…

This time, Aziraphale followed him, settling onto the sofa with the baby in his arms. “So, he’s ours.”

“All the more reason for us to drop him off at a nunnery and move on.” Nuns knew what to do with babies, right? They’d find him a good home, a safe home where he could be raised without ever knowing his true heritage, and far away from the chance of Crowley screwing up and traumatizing him for life.

“Pardon?” Aziraphale looked confused.

“To…protect him. Protect the world!” Crowley kept pacing around the sofa, trying to think. “You saw how well Adam did without us interfering one bit. There you go.” Gabriel wanted the kid dead. Others might, too, if they knew what he was. It wasn’t selfish, then, was it? No, he was protecting the kid. Crowley kept telling himself that. He pulled out his phone, searching for nearby convents. “I’ll find some nice nuns nearby, or…do orphanages still exist? No, that sounds dreary, nuns it is…”

“It sounds like you’re protecting _yourself_._”_ Aziraphale was clearly irritated, and Crowley balked. “Whether we asked for this or not, he’s our child, and we have a responsibility to him—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Angel.” Crowley stopped pacing, holding up a hand, then crossed his arms. This had been thrust upon them, because of some stupid idea about boosting ranks. He hadn’t been kidding about the horror allusions. And so what if he _was_ being selfish? He was a demon; it was in his nature. “First of all, ‘selfish’ is right up my alley, if you don’t recall. Secondly, the best way to fulfill this so-called ‘responsibility’ is to get him the heaven away from us. We’re not exactly fit to be parents.” That was really the crux of it, as far as he was concerned.

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know; we did all right with Warlock.” 

Warlock was not exactly the best comparison Crowley could think of. Maybe if they’d gotten it right and tried raising Adam… “He wasn’t a baby when we showed up!” Crowley threw his arms up, getting more frustrated by the moment. “And he had _parents_; we were just helping out! Maybe they weren’t the most attentive, but…they existed and, y’know, made sure he survived long enough for us to jump in.”

“And we’re this child’s parents.” Aziraphale looked at him in that obnoxious way he always did when he tried to make a point. “So wouldn’t it follow that it’s up to us to—”

“No!” Crowley groaned. How had _they_ ended up fighting over this? “Don’t you _get_ it? What do we know about babies? Nothing, except they cry and eat and poop and then sleep before they do it all over again! If we send him away, we don’t accidentally kill him, and then…boom, our lives go back to normal.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Aziraphale asked, an edge to his tone. “Our lives, going back to normal.”

“Well, _yeah_.” Wasn’t that obvious? They’d been _happy_ with normal. “We never asked for this, Angel, and we don’t deserve to be punished for other people’s decisions.” 

Aziraphale balked at that. “He’s _not_ a punishment.”

Crowley shook his head, annoyed that he couldn’t get through. Why couldn’t he make Aziraphale understand what a bad idea this was? It would only end in pain for everyone involved. “Angel, you just don’t understand, do you?”

Aziraphale looked down at the baby again, before sighing and shaking his head. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

“Listen.” Crowley glanced down at his phone, noting with some amusement that one of the convents his search had returned was near Tadfield. And it wasn’t the old Satanic one… “We have experience with exactly one child, and we weren’t even ourselves when we did it. Not really. You want to be involved? Fine. Forget the nuns. We’ll…find someone, somewhere we can check in.” His idle tapping had brought up recent calls, and he smiled with a sudden idea, seeing Anathema’s number. “Witch Girl! She was saying she and her boyfriend – husband, whatever – had started talking about a kid! It’s perfect! If anyone can deal with weirdness, it’s her. Beautiful.”

Aziraphale glanced back up at him. “Crowley, talking about it and actually having a child are different things.”

“Yeah, but they _want_ one, right? Best possible start.” Crowley chuckled with the energy of inspiration. “I’ll pack him up, be at their place in an hour, and I’m sure you can visit whenever you want. Sort of an open adoption. It’s perfect, am I right?”

“No,” Aziraphale insisted, and it was the sort of no he’d given early on, when Crowley had first suggested the Arrangement. A no that meant he was initially opposed to the idea on moral grounds. But he’d been convinced before… 

Crowley frowned. He was going to have to up the ante. Aziraphale wasn’t getting it, not at all. He was probably caught up in his sense of what was right. But was it right by any of them? Their lives had been comfortable. Now this baby was here and nothing like him had ever existed, as far as they knew. He acted like a human baby in all respects. Was he partially human, too, since he was created with them in human form? Maybe, maybe if he’d been a human baby alone, Crowley could have been convinced. But, no, there were too many factors. Too many risks. Gabriel would be back, or _someone_ would. They wouldn’t be happy about being ignored. And if – when? – Hell found out… No, that wasn’t worth considering. They’d gone through too much to get where they were, and they couldn’t drag any kid – much less _theirs_ – into whatever was to come. If Aziraphale was going to do this, he _had_ to know what the stakes were. “Angel.” His tone was deadly serious, and Aziraphale looked right at him, seeming to realize it. “You’ve got to make a choice.” If Crowley thought about this too hard, he’d talk himself out of it, but Aziraphale had to know, had to _see_… “It’s him or me. You can keep this whole place, but…I can’t risk any of that –” he gestured vaguely up, then down, “coming after us. Him or me, Aziraphale.” He braced himself for heartbreak, potentially, but surely Aziraphale would see that an adoption would just be so much better for all of them?

A myriad of emotions warred on Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley could have sworn he felt a cold chill wash over his body. That might have been real; the air tended to turn colder around Aziraphale when he was angry, whether he meant for it to or not. He stood calmly – almost too calm – and walked over to Crowley, putting the baby in the demon’s arms. “Fine. Take him to Anathema.” He walked back to his room, shutting the door with a gentleness that seemed at odd with the tension in his body.

Crowley looked down at the infant, who _was_ wearing a tartan sleeper, now. Yellow eyes blinked back at him – curious, trusting. Crowley groaned. He’d done the right thing. Aziraphale had to know it. He’d just needed a little push. The baby would be much safer with Anathema and Newt. Crowley had only done what he had to do. 

So why did he feel so horrible about it?

* * *


	5. See What a Fool I've Been

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for your support! It makes my little writer's heart sing! This chapter was written under the direct supervision of my cat, Sadie, who insisted on laying on my chest while I typed...so please excuse any weird typos; I'll fix them as I catch them!
> 
> Also, the song that plays on 666 AM when Crowley tunes in was the exact one that happened to be playing on their website when I checked it out for kicks. It's called "Say, Can You Hear," by Men I Trust, and it was so perfect for the scene, I had to use it.

* * *

_Tadfield, Oxford_

Crowley had gathered up the baby and his things before he could second-guess himself or Aziraphale could ask him to reconsider. The picnic basket, though apparently deemed unsuitable as a bed, had worked fine for transport. It was a longer drive than Crowley had Adam tucked away in his backseat for, but at least the kid slept most of the way – at least, as far as Crowley could tell from what he heard over Freddie Mercury’s vocals.

He paused in the car after parking outside Jasmine Cottage, reminding himself that this had to be done. It wasn’t that he disliked the child – was terrified of him, perhaps, but that was a whole different issue. Crowley just couldn’t risk all the baggage that came along, all of the risks, and if Aziraphale had been thinking with logic over emotion, he would have agreed. At least, that was what Crowley kept telling himself. Here, the baby would be safe and well cared for, and they could check in on him. It was the best thing for everyone.

Anathema met him at the door, smiling. He’d told her he was coming, but not _why_, exactly, figuring that was a discussion best had as close to the handoff as possible. “AJ! Hello.” The horseshoe over the door was still there, but it didn’t have any effect on Crowley since Adam had tweaked it to keep Dog from getting spooked. Not that horseshoe wards had ever stopped him, anyway. They just made the back of his neck itch, which was annoying at worst. As Crowley stepped inside, Anathema glanced at the basket, curious. “What do you have there?”

Crowley deliberately didn’t answer the question until the door shut and he’d set the basket on the coffee table. “Wedding present.”

Anathema looked at the basket warily – was she sensing the kid’s aura, or whatever that weird thing she did was? Newt was the one to actually approach and open the basket, drawing back in surprise. “It’s a baby.”

“Yes.” Crowley nodded. “Congratulations, you two; you’ll be wonderful parents.” He turned and headed for the door, not wanting to prolong this any more than necessary, though he couldn’t have said why. “Ciao.”

“Wait just a minute.” Anathema stepped closer to Newt, who was already holding the infant and making ridiculous faces at him. “You can’t just gift people with _babies_, AJ. That’s not a thing. Where did you even _get_ – oh.” She didn’t look horrified as she saw the baby’s eyes, but definitely surprised. And then she looked at Crowley even _more_ suspiciously, as if he weren’t already squirming internally. “Okay, so I’m going to assume this goes beyond a well-intentioned but misguided kidnapping.”

“Not kidnapped,” Crowley assured her. “Heaven wants him dead.” It wasn’t a lie, after all. “He’ll be safe here.”

Newt’s eyes widened. “Why would Heaven want a child killed? Even…yours?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time for that lot.” Crowley rolled his eyes. “And he’s not mine in the sense you’re thinking.” Humans had a pretty defined concept of reproduction – but, then, even Crowley couldn’t have imagined _this_ scenario. “Don’t treat him like he’s anything unusual. You’ve seen how Adam turned out, left alone to be a kid. That’s the best thing for him.”

Anathema crossed her arms, in a way that suggested this would not be the final discussion on the matter, and that made Crowley nervous. She nodded, however, and then moved to offer the baby her finger, which he grabbed enthusiastically. A smile crossed her lips before she turned back to Crowley. “Well, it’s a little weird for a baby-on-the-doorstep scenario, but I suppose weird is what we do. What’s his name?”

“That’s for you to decide.” Crowley shrugged, opening the door. “Good luck.” He meant that, genuinely. He walked back to the Bentley, turning the radio dial to 666 AM. It was an actual radio station out of Leeds, and some song Crowley didn’t recognize was playing, but the lyrics made him scowl. 

_“You’re self-absorbed, raving about your cryptic ways…”_

“Shut it,” he snapped, and the radio obligingly went silent. He hadn’t wanted music – he had that, already. “You know what I’m here for. And I don’t like it more than anyone else.” The channel, like so many other things in this world, served a second, supernatural purpose. It was a direct line to Dagon’s office, under the right circumstances, and as much as Crowley wanted nothing to do with his former associates, he had questions he needed answered. And the Lord of the Files was as good a place as any to start. 

There was a click on the other end of the line, but then awkward silence as the line remained open. 

“Hello?” Crowley frowned. This was strange. Dagon usually answered quickly, if only to spend as little time dealing with Crowley as possible.

“Crowley.” The voice that eventually answered was most definitely not Dagon, and Crowley was glad for the distance of radio to cover his surprise. “What do _you_ want?”

“Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley rarely bothered to use the title unless sucking up, but he figured it was best to start this conversation with a modicum of diplomacy. “Don’t worry, our little arrangement is still in order. I’m happy to leave you alone as long as you do the same for me.”

Beelzebub snorted, but Crowley couldn’t tell what that was supposed to mean. He hoped it was a good sign that Dagon had apparently chosen to run and get Beelzebub upon hearing from him unexpectedly. “Then why are you calling?”

Crowley sighed. “I called Dagon’s office because I need information that might be in the files. Gabriel just dropped in recently, and no matter what you think of me and how mutual that feeling might be, I think we can agree that the enemy of our enemy is a friend?”

“Gabriel?” Beelzebub sounded suspicious, but interested. “Why would _he_ be viziting _you_?”

“Wish I knew. Still as much of a wanker as ever, in case you were wondering.” A little stretching of the truth couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t as if demons had ever been known for being upfront with other demons. “But he mentioned something about a program, to breed soldiers for that whole end-of-all things war? A joint project, between both sides? Know anything about that?” If anyone in Hell did, it would probably be Beelzebub. Now the question was, how much would they be willing to tell him?

“That’z classified,” Beezlbub snapped. “But since you heard about it from _him_…” A long pause, heavy with consideration. “Yes, it happened. No participation on our side. Well, except the one case.”

“The one case?” Crowley asked. Did they know already?

“The mother of the Adverzary,” Beezlbub replied. “Uselez as _he_ turned out to be…”

Well, that was new information. “Always wondered about her. Well, thanks for your time. Talk to you again never.”

“Wait.” That was Dagon. “Why would _Gabriel_ tell _you_ about that?”

“Something about ‘deactivating’ something in the angel.” Crowley tried to sound as breezy about it as possible. He also didn’t particularly care if they learned something they shouldn’t; it wasn’t as if he was trying to protect Gabriel. Hardly. “A serum. I don’t know. I was just there. Y’know, lurking. I _did_ happen to make a very colorful threat to him, though, that I would have loved to follow through wi-” He chuckled as the line very unceremoniously went dead and the Leeds station returned. It was hardly the first time Hell had hung up on him.

The CD player produced Queen again at Crowley’s command, but he paid the actual music little mind as he considered what he’d learned. They didn’t know about the baby, unless they were playing him – possible, but they’d seemed too surprised at his bringing the matter up. Adam’s biological mother was apparently demon-bred? Interesting, though not really a shocker. And apparently, that was as far as Hell had gone with the Program. Let them do what they would with what Crowley had slipped them. 

When he arrived home, the first thing Crowley noticed was how _cold_ the cottage was. He wasn’t strictly cold-blooded in his human form, but he was still far more sensitive to the cold than most. “Angel! It’s bloody freezing in here!” He glanced at the thermostat, but it was still set at a reasonable temperature, and Crowley sighed. Aziraphale was pure sunshine and warmth when he was happy, but when he was angry it was the exact opposite. Crowley wasn’t even sure how much control the angel had over the power, and only supernatural entities appeared to be able to sense it. At least, no one had ever questioned the sudden winter that fell over the bookshop when a customer pushed Aziraphale too far.

There was no answer from Aziraphale, and he pointedly avoided looking at Crowley when they passed in the kitchen. 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley sighed. “You know I hate the passive-aggressive bullshit. I did what I had to do! It’s better for us and it’s better for him.”

Aziraphale said nothing, gathering his tea and returning to his room without ever meeting Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley groaned. “Fine, give me the silent treatment! See how long you can last with that!” He withdrew to his own room, pulling a winter duvet from the closet and sitting on his bed, huddled in the duvet, as he sulked. Maybe he hadn’t been gentle about it, but he’d pushed Aziraphale for a reason. There was too much at stake. Let Aziraphale be upset for a bit. He’d come around. He could never stay mad long. And if he tried…Crowley could be just as stubborn. In a battle of the wills, Crowley would win eventually. He was sure of it.

* * *

Crowley managed to sleep that night – not well, but he’d slept, buried under a mountain of blankets. He woke up mid-morning, tossing most of them aside. It was far too warm for that. A quick look around the cottage revealed Aziraphale wasn’t home. Crowley nearly panicked for a moment at the possibilities before finding a sheet of paper on the kitchen table. The note was terse, by Aziraphale’s standards, but it informed Crowley that Aziraphale had headed to London to open the bookshop for a bit. Probably a good idea. That was sure to make Aziraphale feel better, and maybe even remind him of the things he loved about this little piece of their universe that Crowley had been trying to save.

Crowley was draped across the sofa, idly playing a word game on his phone against someone called CuddlyDingo815, when Anathema called. Crowley sighed, but picked up, knowing this was a call he’d better take. “Listen, if the little bastard starts doing anything weird, I’m sure Adam can handle it…”

“AJ. We need to talk.”

“Witch Girl. What’s stopping you?” Though he pushed back slightly, Crowley knew better than to try to get out of this, given her tone.

Anathema sighed. “Seriously? You can’t just drop a tiny nephalem in my lap and not expect me to want to discuss it!”

“A what now?” That was the first Crowley had heard of the term.

“A nephalem,” Anathema repeated. “You know, a demon/angel hybrid?”

Crowley didn’t particularly want to explore _why_ humanity had come up with a name for that concept, but he had to give them credit for doing so. “Wow, you humans come up with names for everything, don’t you?” Then the rest of it hit him. “Wait, who said anything about him being part _angel_?”

Anathema chuckled. “Oh, come on. Apart from your eyes, he looks just like Aziraphale. Do you guys really not have a term for hybrids?”

“We didn’t have a name for it, because it didn’t exist,” Crowley explained. “Demons and angels do not reproduce, individually or together.”

“Bub here would suggest otherwise.”

Crowley frowned. “Is that what you’re calling him?”

“It’s a nickname.” Anathema had gotten to know Crowley too well, though, and she blocked his effort to dodge the point. “You’re not getting out of this, AJ. You dragged me in, so whether you like it or not, we’re going to have to talk about this.”

“What’s there to talk about, really?” Crowley shrugged. “He exists, however improbably, Heaven wants him dead, Hell might if they find out, and he’s safer among humans than with us.”

“What about how Aziraphale feels about it?” Anathema suggested.

Shit. She’d gone there. Crowley tried to play it cool, though that felt like a dangerously ironic term once he considered it. “Well, he’s pretty pissed. Or maybe he’s just trying to freeze me out so I’ll leave. I don’t know.” He figured she was probably dying to know how it had happened at all, and that might give her something else to try to process, so he laid it out. “Anyhow, in case you were wondering, the little bastard’s arrival was not at all intentional. I guess, back in the nineteenth century or whatever, they decided they needed more warriors for freaking Armageddon, and devised a breeding program. And then – get this – dragged in a bunch of angels behind their backs when not enough folks signed up. So, whatever, they use this serum and a handful of FM technology, and – boom, new creature created from the essence of both donors.”

There was a moment of silence, presumably as Anathema took it all in. “Sounds kind of twisted and horrific, when you put it that way. What’s FM technology?”

“Oh, that’s exactly what it is.” Crowley chuckled at her question; he’d come up with that term long ago and he was still pretty proud of it. “Fuckin’ Magic.”

That got a laugh out of her, before she went back to the hard-hitting topics. “So, now Heaven knows their plan backfired.”

Crowley nodded. “Exactly. And we got visited by the archangel Gabriel himself, who wanted to off the kid. So I dropped him off with you and Witchfinder Junior and now he’s safe. That clear everything up for you?”

“Mostly.” It was hard to tell if she was humoring him or not. “One question, though. How did you get Aziraphale to agree to it?”

“He didn’t go for it right away,” Crowley admitted. “Something about his high morals and our so-called responsibility to the kid. I just had to make him see how serious it was. A little ultimatum, so he saw the stakes.” 

“And?”

Crowley groaned, pressing his head back against the throw pillow behind him. She was going to make him say it, wasn’t she? And she wouldn’t understand that it was just what the situation had taken. “Him or me, all right? I told him he had to choose the kid or me. And, let me remind you, despite what you bunch of little gossips seem to think, we’re not a couple.”

“Oh, AJ…” Rather than defensive or angry, her tone was soft. Almost…sad. “You _didn’t._” When he didn’t respond – still trying to figure out her angle – she sighed. “I’m going to hang up and call you on video chat. This one calls for a face-to-face.”

* * *

_London_

Getting out of the cottage, where there was too much time to think, heading to the bookshop to establish that the business – such as it was – still existed…it had seemed like a good idea that morning. And it was. Aziraphale did feel a little better, like a dragon surrounded by his treasures. But he and Crowley had so many memories here, too, and it was hard to think about how _angry_ he was when he saw the one scuffed spot on the floor from Nanny’s heels. There had been more, but Aziraphale had left the one for weirdly sentimental reasons and Adam had indeed returned the bookshop to its exact status before the fire. And there was the pile of books, stacked unceremoniously on the credenza when Crowley wanted the chair they’d been occupying.

If he was honest, Aziraphale could admit to himself that the anger was easier than dealing with the underlying heartbreak. Despite himself, despite all his very complicated feelings about the Program and the deception and Heaven in general, he’d begun to fall in love with that child. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been so surprising, given that he was a being of love, but…still. And then the damned choice Crowley had given him. No choice at all, really. As much as Aziraphale had wanted to fight back, to call the bluff, to tell Crowley that he’d gone too far…no. Aziraphale wasn’t strong enough to take the chance that he might really never see Crowley again. And he wasn’t just angry at Crowley. No, he was angry at Gabriel, at the whole bloody Program…and at himself, for being so co-dependent. 

The bell on the door jingled, and Aziraphale grumbled under his breath. He’d opened the shop for appearances’ sake, but he wasn’t really in the mood to shoo off customers. “Just a minute.”

“Take your time,” a female voice called back, and Aziraphale was briefly startled. He hadn’t expected to recognize the customer. “Anathema?”

As he moved out to the main floor to meet her, Aziraphale found Anathema looking around at the shelves and half-hazard stacks, her eyes wide with wonder. “Wow. This looks like heaven.” She winced, turning to look at Aziraphale sheepishly. “Sorry, probably a bad choice of words, considering.”

“No worries.” Aziraphale could appreciate a fellow book lover’s amazement at his collection. “I suppose you could say I tried to make it my little piece of Heaven on Earth.” He realized suddenly that this was the first time she’d actually been here. “I could show you around, if you’d like.”

“Maybe in a bit.” Anathema smiled. “I actually came here to talk to you.”

Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He’d assumed she’d been in London for something else and had gotten curious about the bookshop, or had simply taken advantage of the opportunity to stop by. “You came all this way just for that?” For him?

Anathema shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the place, honestly. And I did want to talk to you. When AJ said you were here, it seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

“You talked to him?” Aziraphale wasn’t surprised. With his mobile phone, Crowley talked to Anathema a lot more than Aziraphale did; he found their friendship charming. But, given the situation, he wasn’t sure what to expect.

“Yeah.” Anathema nodded. “He told me to bring a sweater, just in case. Said you’d know what it meant.”

Aziraphale shook his head. He didn’t have much more control over that than Crowley had over his hissing when he was extremely drunk or distressed. “I wasn’t trying to make him uncomfortable on purpose.” Though, perhaps, he had allowed himself the indulgence of not feeling bad about it last night.

“He knows.” Anathema smiled. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that part, but I figured you should realize.” She shrugged. “It’s not _that_ cold in here.”

“Most humans don’t notice it at all.” Aziraphale motioned to the back room, where they could at least enjoy a measure of privacy if anyone wandered in. “But, then, you’ve always been attuned to the ethereal.” He sat down, smiling softly as she joined him. “How is the little one?”

Anathema grinned. “Adorable. He’s great. Newt’s at home with him…probably still spoiling him rotten. Not that I believe you _can_ spoil a baby so small.”

Her open affection melted a bit more of the metaphorical ice surrounding Aziraphale. “Thank you, my dear. I know this couldn’t have been easy, to have such a responsibility thrust upon you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with him.” It still hurt, but this was the best possible alternative; he could admit that. “I hope you all will be very happy.”

She reached out, squeezing his wrist. “AJ told me about that Program. I’m sorry. That’s just fu—messed up.”

Aziraphale laughed, despite his mood. “You don’t have to censor your language around me. I only chide Crowley about it because it’s entertaining. And…yes. It is rather messed up. The voluntary Program, I have no issue with. But the second phase…” He shook his head. “Frankly, I’m not sure I’ve processed exactly how I feel about that. But, at the same time, if something so lovely came of it…”

“No matter what came from it, you still have the right to be angry.” Anathema moved closer to him, close enough where he could feel the gentle love that radiated from her. Like most humans, she could be complicated, with myriad and even conflicting emotions, but he could always sense that core of her being. It warmed him further, soothing his aching heart. “Your little guy is gorgeous. Looks like you. But no matter how much you adore him – and you do, it’s all over your face – it still doesn’t change that they had no right to do that without your permission. Remember that. And if you want to talk about that, specifically, we can. Absolutely. But somehow, I get the impression that it’s only part of what’s eating at you.”

Aziraphale nodded. She’d seen right through him. “I suppose Crowley told you I was being absolutely unreasonable in wanting to raise our son.” And that was how he saw the child, now that he knew. Clearly, Crowley didn’t…at least not yet.

“He did, though not in those words,” Anathema said. “But…not for the reasons you might think. Even if he doesn’t realize it.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale was intrigued. She had a way of seeing through Crowley’s bluster, so he was quite interested to hear her perspective.

“I’ll tell you upfront…he doesn’t get it.” Anathema shrugged a little, in that endearing “what can I say” way humans had. “You bonded fast, and hard. He managed to close himself off from that. He buys a lot of the party line about what demons can and can’t do, but I’m sure that’s not news to you. But, anyway, I honestly believe he had zero idea how much you’d bonded with that baby. Or, at the very least, he’d willfully blinded himself to it because he’s so terrified.”

“Terrified?”

Anathema nodded. “Terrified of hurting the kid, somehow, terrified of Heaven or Hell or both coming after you. I don’t think I have to tell you after all this time that he lashes out when he’s uncomfortable. And he’s scared shitless about what this might mean.”

Aziraphale sighed. He was beginning to understand. As much as he was still hurt, that Crowley would force him into such a choice, it hadn’t been pure selfishness. “I’m afraid I misjudged him, too. I thought he was only trying to preserve the simplicity of our lives, to avoid being inconvenienced…”

“Yeah, you two are amazing at putting two and two together and getting five sometimes.” But there was only affection in Anathema’s tone. 

She wasn’t wrong. “Yes…I suppose we can be.”

* * *

The Bentley was gone when Aziraphale got home, but Anathema had mentioned something about Crowley going into town for gardening supplies. It wouldn’t have panicked him anyway, after their talk, but it was nice to know. And it would be good to have a few moments to collect himself, to consider how he and Crowley might discuss what happened. And what it meant for them. He was grateful for Anathema; he felt much better after she left. But she’d been right about one thing – to beware the quiet moments, because that was when everything tended to hit.

Alone in his room, looking at the laundry basket – an innocuous thing, and rarely used except for bedding – he remembered that first night, watching the baby sleep. Hoping Crowley would come to see in him what Aziraphale did. And then when Gabriel arrived and confirmed what Aziraphale already had begun to suspect, but with disturbing details of _how_… And Crowley’s ultimatum, and the sheer exhaustion that hadn’t quite left Aziraphale since the child’s arrival…it all got to be too much. As soon as the first tear slipped loose, Aziraphale was helpless to stop the onslaught. And he found he didn’t want to. He let himself cry, not even noticing when Crowley arrived home.

* * *


	6. You and I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun with this chapter, exploring previous scenes from Aziraphale's POV. But there's plenty of new content, too, and a bit of that fluff I promised. Thanks to all you lovely people, as always. <3

* * *

_Chapter 5: You and I_

After his talk with Anathema, Crowley had really started to feel bad about what happened. Truthfully, he’d been feeling a bit guilty anyway, but that had really cemented it. Empathy wasn’t exactly a demon’s strong suit, not even Crowley’s, but for a moment, as he pulled up to the cottage, he tried to imagine being given a choice like that himself. Except…what did he really value that strongly, beyond Aziraphale? 

_“When I’m holding your wheel, all I feel is your gear…”_

As usual, the Bentley provided music to suit the mood. Crowley snorted at the CD player. “A bit too on-the-nose, there.” Obligingly, the track skipped and “Killer Queen” began playing instead. “That’s better.” But the point had been made. The Bentley vs. Aziraphale…now, that was the only Sophie’s Choice-type situation Crowley could legitimately imagine for himself. If he was honest…Aziraphale would win that one. Once upon a time, he might have cheerfully sold Aziraphale for a single corn chip with only the most minor of regrets, but…well, nothing had been quite the same since Rome. Maybe even Golgotha. Crowley knew if he ever ended up in that situation, he’d be devastated, furious, but…he’d have to let his beloved car go, if it meant keeping his angel in his life. 

And that was exactly what it seemed he’d done _to_ Aziraphale, more or less.

Crowley hadn’t seen it that way in the moment. It wasn’t like he’d been asking Aziraphale to part with the bookshop, or even one of his favorite first-editions. No, Crowley wouldn’t have dared to ask _that_. They hadn’t even had the kid in their lives for two days. Crowley legitimately hadn’t thought there was any way Aziraphale would have become so attached so quickly. He’d convinced himself Aziraphale’s insistence that they raise the child had been out of a sense of nobility, the idea that it was the right thing to do – and didn’t Aziraphale _always_ try to do the right thing? He’d only been trying to throw something serious enough out there that the angel would stop and consider the gravity of the situation, what they were getting into. 

It wasn’t like Crowley would have been able to follow through with his threat to leave, anyhow. He’d told himself at the time he would do it, wouldn’t ever look back. Like he’d threatened to run to Alpha Centauri. Then, maybe if he’d felt hurt and rejected enough over Aziraphale choosing a baby (even _his_ baby, as much as that thought still made him shudder) over him, he could have.

This was becoming yet another entry on Crowley’s endless list of moments in which he realized how badly he’d fucked up. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel in frustration as he arrived home. How was he going to fix this?

Crowley paused just outside the front door, steeling himself for the cold breeze that was sure to hit him in the face as soon as he opened it. And he deserved that – but to his surprise, it was only vaguely chilly. Aziraphale’s anger must have been fading. That, or he wasn’t home yet, but the whistling kettle on the stove suggested otherwise. Well, that would at least make this easier. Crowley tried to practice an apology in his head, but ultimately discarded it…he couldn’t _plan_ this; he’d have to play it by ear. Rehearsed conversations rarely went well for him anyhow.

The door to Aziraphale’s bedroom was closed. Crowley lifted a hand to knock, but then the faintest sound stopped him. A soft, gentle hiccupping noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob…oh, no. Oh, _fuck_. Aziraphale was _crying._

Crowley moved back to the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and busying himself with making tea. He could show up with a peace offering, right? If he got the nerve to go back at all. He wasn’t good with tears, especially not Aziraphale’s. Especially not when he was the one responsible for them. _And you thought you felt guilty before. Shit._ Crowley could have just miracled Aziraphale’s tea exactly the way he liked it, but going through the motions, doing it the old-fashioned and proper way, just felt better. It was hardly going to make up for everything, but it could be an olive branch.

Crowley dug through the cabinet for the fanciest tea cup he could find. If he’d hurt Aziraphale so grandly, he could apologize grandly. Adding a couple of shortbread biscuits to the saucer for good measure couldn’t hurt. Lifting the cup and saucer delicately, he moved back to Aziraphale’s doorway and knocked softly. “Angel?” 

On the other side of the door, there was a sharp intake of breath. A pause, in which Crowley held his own breath. And then, finally, “…yes?”

“Can I come in? I’ve got your tea.” Crowley didn’t have to try very hard to sound contrite.

There was another long pause, in which Crowley was afraid Aziraphale would tell him to just leave the tea and go. And he would, but apologies were hard enough for Crowley without having to wait for Aziraphale to be ready to hear one. He _would_ wait – Aziraphale deserved that much – but Crowley was likely to lose his mind in the meantime. After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, Aziraphale replied. “Yes.” 

It was all Crowley could do not to rush in there…but if he did, he’d probably spill the tea. And he had to _try_ to play it cool. This was him, after all. But as soon as he saw Aziraphale’s still-red rimmed eyes, the tear tracks that had been hastily wiped away, all sense of cool went out the window. He set the tea down on the nightstand and sat on the bench at the end of the bed, where Aziraphale was. “Fuck, Angel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – well, what I thought was – actually, I – shit! I’m just…I’m _sorry_, okay?”

Aziraphale smiled, shakily. “I suppose that’s it, then. Truce declared.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, though he doubted Aziraphale could see it behind the sunglasses. “Don’t do that. Please. Don’t make me feel worse. I mean, I should feel bad, I get that, but --”

Aziraphale held up a hand, cutting him off. “That wasn’t my intention. I do appreciate the apology. And the tea.”

“But you’re not ready to forgive me.” Somehow, it was easier for Crowley to accept it if he said it first.

“I never said that.” Aziraphale shook his head slowly, reaching out to pat Crowley’s hand. “I do forgive you. The talk I had with Anathema today…it helped me consider why you acted as you did, hurtful as it might have been.”

Crowley snorted softly. “Since when is she the supernatural therapist?”

That teased a small smile out of Aziraphale. “She’s rather good at it, isn’t she?”

“Scarily so,” Crowley agreed. He let the following silence between them linger just long enough to become uncomfortable. Granted, given his emotional state, that was only about 4.3 seconds. “So what now?” They were making up, but where did they go from here?

“I honestly don’t know.” Aziraphale sounded deflated, and when he got up to retrieve the tea, he looked weak, which drew Crowley’s immediate concern.

“Angel, you all right?” Crowley moved to help Aziraphale to sit on the bed.

Aziraphale nodded. “I will be.” He sighed, his expression seeming to indicate he was debating something with himself. “As unintentional as it might have been on our parts, the child’s…arrival took a lot out of me. I overdid it today, that’s all.”

Crowley frowned, sitting bedside Aziraphale on the bed. “You never said you were feeling badly.” _And I was too busy freaking out about everything else to notice._

Aziraphale waved a hand dismissively. “It’s nothing worth complaining about. Just…tiredness, really. Nothing like you deal with daily.”

“Ngk.” Crowley hadn’t expected him to bring that up. Of _course_ Aziraphale remembered that from their body swap. “No, that isn’t how this goes. I screwed up; you don’t get to turn this into a sympathy party for me.”

“And _you_ don’t get to keep assuming my intentions.” There wasn’t any heat in Aziraphale’s rebuke, however. 

“Fair enough.” Crowley stood, gently taking the cup and saucer from Aziraphale before the angel’s increasingly unsteady hands dropped it. “You should sleep. It’ll probably help you regain your strength faster.” The seed of an idea was beginning to bloom in his mind, how they could potentially get this situation to work out for everybody. For real, this time. “We’ll talk when you wake up.”

Aziraphale nodded, lying back on the bed, though he didn’t yet pull back the covers. “Should we talk first?”

“Might be easier if I didn’t have to worry about you nodding off on me.” Crowley shrugged. Besides, he wasn’t sure he was ready for that conversation just yet. He had to water that blooming idea and perhaps yell at it a bit first. He shifted position to perch on the edge of the bed as Aziraphale got settled. “…There is one thing, though.” _This_ idea was probably a terrible one, and if he stopped to think about it at all instead of pressing forward, he’d talk himself out of it.

“What’s that?”

Crowley sighed. “I…can I just _feel_ you?” Realizing how that sounded, he immediately amended it by tapping his temple with one finger. “I mean, here. I just…there’s something I need to understand.” Since their body swap, they’d gained the ability to look into each other’s minds – with permission, of course – and experience memories and emotions. “About the kid.”

Aziraphale’s expression was somewhere between suspicious and confused until Crowley said it was about the child. He nodded then, taking Crowley’s hand and guiding it to the side of his face. “Find what you need.”

It was a gesture of trust, despite all that had happened in the last couple of days, and Crowley nodded gratefully, closing his eyes and reaching out with his mind. For a moment, there was nothing but the usual, fuzzy silence that was normal for the beginning of the process, and then…

As strange as it seemed, searching through another’s mind wasn’t all that different from traveling through the phone system, at least not initially. There was a distracting cacophony of images, voices, and sounds, all at once, until Crowley was able to shove all the extraneous bits aside and focus on what he came for. Even then, he had to get more specific…baby. For a moment, he was holding Adam and Eve’s firstborn, and that was nice, but hardly helpful. No, not just _any_ baby, _that_ baby.

Then, the memory took hold, and the room shifted. It was still this room, but their positions were reversed, and everything was dark. There was a baby crying, and suddenly light flooded in as he opened his eyes…as _Aziraphale_ opened his eyes…

* * *

Crowley was cursing, a baby was crying, and everything was entirely too bright. Oh, and somehow, he’d been overtaken by a mind-numbing exhaustion, the kind he only experienced after drawing on too much celestial power in his human form. On top of that, his head still ached.

Squinting, he managed to adjust his eyes to the light, sitting up gingerly. The baby in question was lying on the bed – squalling indignantly, arms flailing. Crowley was sitting between the child and Aziraphale, clearly distressed as well. Upon noticing Aziraphale was awake, Crowley looked at him, nearly vibrating with anxious energy. “Whatever you did, Angel…_fix it_!”

“Whatever _I_ did?” Aziraphale frowned, rubbing at his temples. “What’s got you so chopsy?” He had no idea where the baby had even come from or why Crowley was upset, but the noise certainly wasn’t helping his headache or ability to think clearly. He picked the infant up, rearranging the blanket so the child wouldn’t be cold, and tried to shush…him? Aziraphale peeked under the blanket quickly, knowing that was no guarantee, but wanting to have something to start with in identifying this tiny stranger. “Hush now, lamb,” he murmured, as he’d done with countless babies over the years. 

“Chopsy? You’re calling me chopsy?” Crowley frowned. “Just…look at him!”

Aziraphale did. The baby, now only whimpering, had the barest hints of blond hair, and impossibly slim fingers that reached out to curl around Aziraphale’s pinky. “What about him?” There seemed to be nothing untoward about the child at all – until he opened his eyes, blinking curiously at Aziraphale. “Oh.” He looked back at Crowley. “What have you been playing at?”

“Me?” Crowley stood, looking annoyed. “You’re going to blame this on _me_? I found him in here with _you_!”

“Well, I’m quite certain I have no idea where he came from.” He examined the baby closer. Was that soft blond hair the same shade as his own? It appeared to be, now that he considered it. But it wasn’t as if demons and angels could reproduce, even if they’d intended to do such a thing. Aziraphale gasped, but then smiled in surprise as the baby turned his head and started sucking on Aziraphale’s finger. A rush of sudden, unexpected love coursed through him, and he held the child closer. “Surely he can’t be ours. Despite his…unusual eyes.”

Crowley sneered in their general direction. “Yeah, lovely eyes he’s got, hmm?” The sarcasm practically dripped from his tone.

Aziraphale frowned. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I simply meant they’re unusual for a human child. I rather like your eyes.” 

Crowley waved the compliment off with a grunt. “You don’t s’pose this is a trap? Or Armageddon, Take Two? It’s not like I’ve been keeping up with Luci’s love life…if someone miracled in here and dropped the kid off while you were out…”

“That sounds a bit paranoid,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Isn’t the simplest explanation usually correct?”

Crowley fixed him with a stare. “Give me _one_ simple explanation for this.”

“I…don’t know.” There was a growing protectiveness inside him, the kind Aziraphale generally felt for humanity and those he cared for, but rarely flared up like this without any danger present. He shifted the baby to his shoulder, smiling as the little one cooed and settled against his chest. “But I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

* * *

Gabriel’s visit. The explanation. Aziraphale’s head was spinning. Was an omission really a lie? Even if it was, Heaven had lied to him before. He shouldn’t have been so shocked. But that they wouldn’t _tell_ him, about something so big…

“Did your side ever mention this?” he asked Crowley, moving back into the bedroom to retrieve the baby from the laundry basket. The sleepy child made a questioning noise, then settled as soon as he realized he was being held. 

“Certainly not.” Crowley was pacing, and he moved back out into the hallway, to the living room, as if he needed more space. 

“So he’s ours.” That initial rush of love Aziraphale had felt was only beginning to grow, and as the baby slept in his arms, he knew he would do anything – _anything_ – to protect this child, especially given Gabriel’s veiled threats.

“All the more reason for us to drop him off at a nunnery and move on.”

“Pardon?” Aziraphale found the suggestion even _more_ baffling, now that they knew the truth.

“To…protect him. Protect the world!” Crowley had made at least fifteen laps around the sofa in the previous two minutes. “You saw how well Adam did without us interfering one bit. There you go.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ll find some nice nuns nearby, or…do orphanages still exist? No, that sounds dreary, nuns it is…”

“It sounds like you’re protecting _yourself_,” Aziraphale snapped, irritated at the suggestion that this child was merely a problem to be disposed of. “Whether we asked for this or not, he’s our child, and we have a responsibility to him—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Angel.” Crowley stopped pacing long enough to hold up a hand, then crossed his arms over his chest. “First of all, ‘selfish’ is right up my alley, if you don’t recall. Secondly, the best way to fulfill this so-called ‘responsibility’ is to get him the heaven away from us. We’re not exactly fit to be parents.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “I don’t know; we did all right with Warlock.” He might not have been the child they _thought_ they were caring for, but they’d cared for him nonetheless.

“He wasn’t a baby when we showed up!” Crowley threw his arms up in obvious frustration. “And he had _parents_; we were just helping out! Maybe they weren’t the most attentive, but…they existed and, y’know, made sure he survived long enough for us to jump in.”

“And we’re this child’s parents,” Aziraphale argued. “So wouldn’t it follow that it’s up to us to—”

“No!” Crowley groaned. “Don’t you _get_ it? What do we know about babies? Nothing, except they cry and eat and poop and then sleep before they do it all over again! If we send him away, we don’t accidentally kill him, and then…boom, our lives go back to normal.”

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Aziraphale was becoming equally frustrated, but for different reasons. “Our lives, going back to normal.”

“Well, _yeah_.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale as if that should have been obvious. “We never asked for this, Angel, and we don’t deserve to be punished for other people’s decisions.”

The insinuation that the innocent creature sleeping peacefully in his arms was any sort of punishment annoyed Aziraphale further. “He’s _not_ a punishment.”

Crowley shook his head, looking equally annoyed. “Angel, you just don’t understand, do you?”

Aziraphale looked down at the baby again. It made sense that, as a being of love, he would want to care for and adore this child. Even so, he was surprised by the ferocity of his feelings, this fast-forming bond. He pondered Crowley’s question for a moment, sighing sadly. “No, I don’t suppose I do.”

* * *

It all made sense now, in a way it hadn’t before, how connected Aziraphale had become to the child, and Crowley’s mind was reeling. It was something like having the experience downloaded directly into his brain. He still couldn’t have said he understood _why_; his fears still kept the near-instant bonding Aziraphale had experienced from really clicking. But he had a taste of how it felt, and that was enough. 

A feeling he couldn’t quite define called to him, and Crowley reached after it – a complicated blend of longing, fear, and love. As he pursued it, he felt Aziraphale’s defenses rise, and Crowley could only respect that and back off. He certainly had enough complex feelings of his own he wasn’t ready for Aziraphale to go poking around.

Crowley was just about to disconnect, to pull back into his own self, when a memory was pushed at him – something Aziraphale wanted him to see. It felt a bit like having something securely placed into his arms, and he could hardly have denied exploring it. _What’s this, Angel?_

_Look and see, my dear…_

* * *

_London – 1967 _

To say Aziraphale had been a bit distracted as of late would have been an understatement, and it wasn’t related to his recent quest to get his hands on one of the first-edition, autographed copies of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_ he’d heard might be available at an estate sale in Mayfair. If anything, he was focusing on that as a distraction _from_ the source of his distraction.

Giving Crowley holy water had been an option of last resort for Aziraphale, despite how oddly touched Crowley had seemed at the gesture. Aziraphale had only given in because he couldn’t risk Crowley trying to obtain it himself…one drop spilled, and it would all be over. And _why_ had Crowley been so awed by the gift? Aziraphale had handed him the equivalent of a loaded gun. It was the absolutely worst way for a demon to go. It had to be worse than anything Hell might have been able to think up…or was it? Torture could last an eternity. Perhaps that was why Crowley wanted it so desperately, as a back-up plan. Still, Aziraphale’s heart clenched to even _think_ of losing his friend that way.

And why hadn’t he just let Crowley give him a ride? That was their routine, wasn’t it? Aziraphale had been too shaken by the power of what he’d just handed over. He’d needed some time to process everything; driving at ninety miles an hour through Soho didn’t seem to be the best way to accomplish it. Besides, there had been something in Crowley’s expression, so uncharacteristically tender, that ignited emotions Aziraphale wasn’t ready to deal with. So, he’d stammered out an excuse, hating the way Crowley’s face fell. And that disappointment bothered Aziraphale in a way it really shouldn’t have. Other angels would have been all too happy to disappoint a demon, to hand them the key to their own destruction, but Aziraphale wasn’t other angels and Crowley wasn’t other demons. They were different from their own kind and they were keenly aware of that. They were _friends_. 

Lost in his thoughts, Aziraphale nearly collided with an anxious-looking musician who was on his way in to a record label’s office. He apologized, sending a blessing with the young man, and resolved to keep his thoughts in order until he was safely back in his bookshop.

Even in this part of the city, shadows and unsavory individuals were known to lurk in alleyways, so Aziraphale tried to avoid them, generally. But he felt drawn to the one ahead, and so he approached cautiously, grinning in delight as he saw exactly _which_ lurker awaited him. “Crowley!”

Crowley scowled at him over the top of his dark glasses. “Announce it to half of London, why don’t you? And it’s been over a month; will you stop looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” Aziraphale asked.

“Like you’re surprised to see me alive.” Crowley shook his head, nudging the sunglasses back into place. “I told you the first time around – it’s only for insurance purposes. I’ve got it locked away in a safe. Hopefully, it’ll stay there ‘til kingdom come.”

“I’m happy to see you, is all.” Aziraphale glanced around. “Where’s your car?”

Crowley nodded toward the adjacent street. “Parked. But since I apparently drive _too fast_ for you…”

Of _course_ he was going to bring that up. Frankly, Aziraphale would have been surprised if he hadn’t. Crowley hated disruptions to their routine. They were both creatures of habit…only, sometimes, Aziraphale got too lost in his own head. Too worried about the repercussions if they were to be found out. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” It wasn’t a very good explanation, but hopefully Crowley would accept it.

Crowley merely raised an eyebrow at him, leaning against the wall. A sunbeam caught his hair, giving him an eerie halo effect. Ironic, that. “Unless it wasn’t about the driving.”

Had Aziraphale been inclined to curse, he might have. That was another thing that had been bothering him since they’d last parted ways. _Was_ it really about the driving? Aziraphale didn’t even know, and he’d said it. Everything Crowley made him feel was just so _complicated_. “Everything on Earth feels fast to me.”

Crowley snorted, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. “Is that why you still dress like it’s 1886?”

Aziraphale ignored the tease. “I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“Offend? No.” Crowley shrugged. “Baffled, maybe. I just can’t figure you out sometimes, Angel.”

“Honestly, the feeling is mutual,” Aziraphale admitted. “I’d still like that picnic sometime, though.”

That got more of a smile out of Crowley. “Yeah…me too.” He glanced in the direction he said he’d parked. “Can I drop you anywhere? I’ll try to watch my speed.” 

Aziraphale didn’t trust the sarcasm in that promise for a moment. “Only if it’s on your way.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Estate sale,” Aziraphale said, unfolding the newspaper in his hand to show Crowley the advertisement.

“Oh, that.” Crowley barely even looked at it. “Definitely on my way.”

Aziraphale realized in that moment that the moon would have been on Crowley’s way, though he was hardly going to call out the flimsy excuse to spend time together without work being involved. He _wanted_ to spend the time together. And something tugged at his memory when Crowley put a hand on his shoulder to guide him, something he longed to identify but couldn’t. Something that had flared up the month before, in the car, but he refused to let it panic him this time. A warning, from a time long past, but of what? Aziraphale honestly had no idea, but he shoved it away, not wanting it to sour his mood. He could explore that another time.

* * *

_Petersfield – Present _

Slowly, Crowley returned to the bedroom, moving his hand down from Aziraphale’s face to his lap. That day in Mayfair…Crowley remembered it. He’d been going crazy since that business in the car, trying to analyze Aziraphale’s words to him. Eventually, he’d tracked Aziraphale down, wanting to settle it. They hadn’t, really, but Crowley had been satisfied that it wasn’t intended as a rejection. In all honesty, Crowley hadn’t attached a great deal of significance to that afternoon. But, clearly, Aziraphale had. 

A part of Crowley wanted to begin sorting through what it meant that Aziraphale would show him that immediately after shying away from other feelings, but as Anathema had reminded him, they both had a knack for jumping to faulty conclusions. “Why that day, Angel?” 

“It was the first time that I let myself accept that we didn’t _need_ a reason to spend time together,” Aziraphale explained, his hand curling around Crowley’s. “We’d been social before, but there was always some formality involved. And…I realized, then, that you actually _wanted_ to spend time with me for no reason at all.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “Where had _you_ been? Of course I wanted to spend time with you.” He shifted position so that he could wrap an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “You don’t think all those times I saved your bacon were just so I could flip Hell the bird, do you?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly, leaning into the embrace. “I thought perhaps you were afraid Heaven might replace me with someone competent.”

“Well, yeah, that too.” Crowley chuckled, letting his cheek rest on Aziraphale’s hair. A thought occurred to him. “That memory you were after…did you ever figure it out?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “No. I suspect it was from…before.”

“Before?” Crowley echoed. The only other time he’d heard Aziraphale describe a time period so vaguely was...oh. “Before the Fall?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale nodded. “My memories of that time are blurry at best. It’s infuriating, but…it’s the same for almost all angels. At least, as far as I could ever tell. We remember the first moments after our creation, interactions with some of the angels who remained…but, there are a lot of gaps. And any of the Fallen, except Lucifer, that’s all gone.”

“Probably for the best.” Crowley shrugged. He didn’t want to dismiss Aziraphale’s desire to know more, but there were times Crowley wished he remembered _less_ of his old life. “Evie was a _nightmare_, even back then.”

“Evie?” Aziraphale looked up, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Beelzebub,” Crowley explained. He lowered his voice, as if sharing a conspiratorial secret. “Evangelia, to me. Evie, if you were friends. A seraphim, never strayed far from Luci’s side.” He didn’t feel bad sharing the information; most demons had no connection whatsoever with their past anymore, and Beelzebub was no exception. It had no power to affect them, not that Crowley was particularly interested in protecting anyone down there anyway. But it was certainly no violation of demonic etiquette, either. The only demons who could be hurt by their past were the ones who still valued it, and Crowley kept the fact that he fell into that category very close to the vest. “Kissing his ass, even back then.”

Aziraphale smiled, looking at Crowley for a long moment. Crowley almost began to wonder if he’d ask next about _Crowley’s_ angelic life, and that was a wound he wasn’t ready to reopen. Or maybe that distant look in Aziraphale’s eyes was just exhaustion. “Well…at least now I’m sure it wasn’t Evangelia I was trying to remember.”

“Fair enough,” Crowley agreed. He moved so that Aziraphale could get settled in bed. “Get some sleep. We’ll talk more when you wake up.” He was surer than ever that this latest wrinkle in their lives could be resolved, in a way that left them both happy. A little compromise on both sides, and they could work this out.

It was time to set the terms of a new Arrangement.

* * *


	7. Action This Day

* * *

One of the most-misquoted bits of Scripture among humans was that one about money being the root of all evil. The _love_ of money was the root of all evil; that was the verse. And, really, that was only Paul’s take on the situation if you asked Crowley, but there were many, many reasons that he had not been the one to decide what made it into the book and what didn’t. Either way, Satan had liked his Earthly agents to appear to be outrageously wealthy, and Crowley had been all too happy to comply. He’d also had quite a bit of fun over the years creating businesses as fronts for where his money came from – which, in turn, generated more when things went well and at least a few weeks of entertainment when they didn’t. 

After years of that, it seemed strange to him that he’d adapted so quickly and so well to a quiet life in a modest little cottage. But he had. His most important material possessions (after the Bentley) fit in his room, and if the rest of the place looked like someone’s grandmother had been hired as the interior designer…well, it made Aziraphale happy. And Crowley’s home had become wherever Aziraphale was. It was disgustingly sappy, when he thought about it, but he couldn’t deny that it was true. 

Aziraphale was still sleeping when Crowley woke, still beside him on the bed. As much as the angel had _needed_ to sleep, he was absolutely terrible at it. He had done it before, but he didn’t make a habit of it, so he’d had trouble settling. Crowley had been sure that once Aziraphale managed to fall asleep, he’d stay asleep, and so he’d stayed with him, reminding him to just lie still and close his eyes and stop peeking every few seconds when sleep didn’t happen instantly. As soon as Aziraphale drifted off, Crowley had opted for a nap of his own. He’d stayed next to Aziraphale, though, not wanting to risk disturbing the angel until he was well and truly asleep. 

It was late the next morning, and the fact that Aziraphale was still sleeping soundly was a testament to how exhausted he must have been. And sixteen hours of sleep was little more than a catnap for Crowley, all things considered, but he did feel refreshed. It didn’t hurt that they’d managed to sort their feelings out a bit before getting some sleep – and Crowley had a plan for how to handle the future.

Aziraphale made a soft, questioning noise as Crowley rose from the bed, and Crowley paused to arrange the blankets around him more securely, slipping out of the room. He went to work in the garden for a bit, needing an outlet for his pent-up energy. Despite the recent cold snap, the houseplants were gorgeous and growing exactly as they should have been; they’d be fools not to. The roses needed attention, though – they were always so high-maintenance – and Crowley headed out to take care of it, sniping at them as he worked. 

“Really? You lot, you’re so _dramatic_. ‘Oh, make sure my soil’s got just the right balance, or I’ll wither away!’ Give me a break. You’ll take what you get and be happy with it. You _will_ be the finest roses in all of England, or else…well, ask the geraniums about that. Oh, wait; that’s right. You can’t. Because they wouldn’t fall in line.”

Anathema had tried to convince him he’d misinterpreted the advice on gardening, that he was supposed to be _nice_ to the plants or something like that. It sounded like something Aziraphale had put her up to. He wanted Crowley to be nicer, too, but Brother Francis had tried that. And then Nanny had to go behind him and fix everything. Crowley had tried to tell Anathema that, but she’d only shook her head and suggested he consider therapy instead. As far as Crowley was concerned, that was what he had her for. 

When Crowley came inside, miracling his clothes clean, he found Aziraphale coming out of the bedroom, still a bit bleary-eyed but much steadier on his feet. “Hey. You look better.”

“I feel better.” Aziraphale put the kettle on, then moved to sit at the kitchen table. He glanced out the window, to the garden beyond. “The roses look glorious.”

“Of course they do; they know better than to defy me.” Crowley joined him at the table. “And don’t even start about that being nice business. The hydrangeas, they’ve looked better, and weren’t you just trying to be all lovey-dovey with them last week?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I just told them they were doing a lovely job growing.”

“Yeah, and then they let it go to their heads…petals. Whatever.” Crowley snorted. “Let me handle the plants. You can try your touchy-feely bit out on the kid.” He hadn’t been expecting that segue to present itself so perfectly, but there it was, and the sudden double-take it earned him from Aziraphale was rewarding.

“I’m sorry, what?” Aziraphale asked, looking cautiously hopeful.

Crowley sighed. “I was thinking…it might be time for a different kind of Arrangement. Y’know, since we’re free agents these days and the old one’s kind of irrelevant.” 

Aziraphale shifted in his chair, angling himself to face Crowley. “Go on.”

“You love this kid.” There was no question about it; Crowley didn’t even wait for confirmation, though Aziraphale nodded to give it. “Me? I am not parent material. Nanny…that was different. And don’t try to convince me it wasn’t. Yeah, Warlock was a great kid, and I _might_ have even gotten a bit sweet on him, but…it’s not like _this_ kid. There’s no mission. There’s no end game. And if we accidentally traumatize him, it actually _does_ matter, because the world _isn’t_ ending in the next few years.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You, you’ll be great at all that stuff kids need. Me, not so much.”

“I don’t believe that,” Aziraphale said, reaching out to cover Crowley’s nearest hand with his own. “You could be a wonderful parent, if you were willing to work at it.”

“But here’s the thing, Angel – I’m not.” Crowley shrugged. “I’m _me_. Despite how ‘good’ you accuse me of being, I am a demon. I think the last few days have more than proved what a bastard I can be. You, I’m used to. I can anticipate that. I almost kind of understand you, at least sometimes.” He snorted. “This kid, no clue. I can’t worry about everything I say and do, because that’s going to stress me out. I don’t want to break him because, y’know, at the end of the day, he doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve having a demon for a parent in the first place; I’m not going to make that worse.”

The look Aziraphale gave him was nearly impossible to scrutinize – sad, but not _because_ of Crowley. For him, maybe. That came far too close to pity for Crowley to be comfortable with. “You haven’t tainted him. Your eyes…that’s just a part of you that was passed on to him. Genetics, as it were – and possibly a part of his actual DNA, given his human body. At the heart of it, Crowley, you may have a different experience and been through far different things, but we’re still made from the same stock.”

Crowley’s eyes didn’t actually bother him that much, on the day-to-day. He’d become quite used to them, and even appreciated the aesthetic it lent him now and then. The glasses just kept prying eyes off his, and gave him a shield against the world that he very much valued. “If that’s the case, Angel, then why aren’t his eyes brown?” He hadn’t been ready to talk about his angelic life yesterday, and he still wasn’t, but that one detail felt benign enough. He figured Aziraphale had already assumed his eyes weren’t always serpentine. “My eyes were brown, when we were ‘made from the same stock,’ as you put it.”

Aziraphale looked just the tiniest bit awed by that – or maybe just the fact that Crowley had trusted him with it. “You pass on the genetics that you have now, I’d assume. Not that this is strictly akin to human reproduction – which I only understand in theory, mind you. But, as a demon, you have a unique power set, ingrained at the core of yourself. As I do. You can pass that on without any alignment whatsoever. He still has free will and the chance to choose who he’ll be. Right now, that child is still intrinsically good – or, at most, neutral.”

“He’s something entirely new,” Crowley murmured, still trying to wrap his head around it. Suddenly, something occurred to him, and he slammed his hand against the table with the sudden realization. “Shit! He could have the powers of a demon, without ever being damned. Plus, whatever he got from you…no wonder Gabriel’s terrified.”

“Oh, my, yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened a little as he considered it. He got up to make the tea as the kettle whistled. “That’s all the more reason why we should keep him close, protect him and train him as necessary.”

“Yes, about that.” It was a good a way as any to bring up the particulars of the bargain he wanted to strike. “The ‘we.’ I meant what I said about being a rubbish parent. And if he starts out so pure, that’s all the more reason I _should_ be worried. So that’s the deal. You raise him. You deal with all that. He is _your_ son. I’ll help with things now and then if you need me, but I’m not getting involved. And I’m not going to have him thinking of me as his father. If he questions the eyes when he’s older, we can deal with it then.”

Aziraphale didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t protest, either. “And in return?”

“I’ll train him if he needs it, about anything he got from me. Anything material he needs, you ask and I’ll make it happen. We can turn the spare room into a nursery; I’ll even let you get as nauseatingly cutesy with the décor as you want. And you can be damned sure I’ll protect him if anyone comes after him, Heaven or Hell.”

Aziraphale smiled, setting down their tea before he squeezed Crowley’s shoulder. “_We’ll_ protect him.” He sat again. “I suppose we can always renegotiate terms if your feelings change and you want to become more involved. You know I wouldn’t mind.”

Crowley waved a hand dismissively. “Fine, if putting that out there makes you feel better. For now, you can tell him whatever you like about me, but I am _not_ his daddy and he is _your_ responsibility as far as the raising goes, unless you need help with something.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “Fair enough.” He extended a hand, which Crowley shook, just as they had when negotiating the terms of their first Arrangement. “Can I ask one thing of you?”

“What’s that?”

“Help me name him?” Aziraphale blushed the tiniest bit, and Crowley was powerless in the face of how _adorable_ it was. It wasn’t right, for anyone to have this much power over him. But it was what it was and had been for a long time now. “I’m not the most creative with names, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Crowley teased. “I still have no idea what A.Z. is supposed to stand for. A. Fell, I could have seen – and _interesting_ choice you made there, choosing that name. And, for the record, who is the ‘Co.’? There is literally _one_ person involved in that ‘company.’”

Aziraphale laughed. “I thought it sounded more official. But you’ve only further confirmed my point.”

“Fine,” Crowley agreed. “I can help you pick a name. I don’t suppose you’d consider ‘Little Bastard’?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale was doing a terrible job of pretending to be scandalized. It probably said something that it took a lot more to scandalize him than it used to. “I thought you were trying to _avoid_ giving him a complex.”

“Aw, come on!” Crowley wasn’t about to let it go if there was the chance he could get a rise out of Aziraphale. “It’ll be great. We can call him ‘L.B.’ for short.”

“No,” Aziraphale insisted. “Absolutely not.”

“Freddie Mercury?” Crowley suggested. "And, no, not just Freddie. It has to be the full name, so there's no doubt."

“As close as you were to him, I suspect that’s a name better suited to a pet than a child.”

“Jeez, Angel.” Crowley was enjoying falling back into their old routine, even if it had a new twist. It made him feel better about the whole situation. “You ask for my help, then you shoot down every suggestion I make. Fine. I’ll get you a baby name book, then.”

“That might not be a bad idea.” Aziraphale frowned, his eyebrows furrowing in that contemplative way he had. “Should we wait until he’s back with us to decide on anything? To make sure it suits him?”

“Okay.” Crowley suspected that was the only way Aziraphale would be able to make a firm choice anyhow. “Can we at least make his initials L.B.?”

Aziraphale snorted. “Not if you’re going to call him Little Bastard.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but his mood had improved too much for him to even feign proper annoyance. “You take all the fun out of everything.”

* * *


	8. Good Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff? Who am I? What happened to the Angst Queen?  
...don't worry, there will be more angst ahead, but enjoy this for now. And, as always, thanks for reading and supporting my obsession with our favorite Ineffable Idiots.

* * *

_Tadfield_

If he was completely honest with himself, Crowley was a little anxious about the upcoming baby exchange. If Anathema and Newt had already gotten overly attached to the kid, he knew Aziraphale wouldn’t push the matter…but that, privately, Aziraphale would be heartbroken. And that would be Crowley’s fault, again. Anathema had sounded obscenely cheerful when Crowley suggested they needed to talk, so he suspected she might know something was up. But humans were nothing if not unpredictable, and so he worried about it as he drove.

Anathema and Newt weren’t alone when they arrived. The lanky teenager draped over the couch wasn’t a huge surprise – Adam seemed to consider their place a second home these days. Tracey…well, she was a little more unexpected, but there she was at the kitchen table, cuddling the baby. Adam gave Crowley and Aziraphale a cheerful wave as Newt let them in, and Tracey grinned, turning her head to call down the hall. “Ana, darling – they’re here!”

Anathema popped out of one of the bedrooms, smiling as she joined the others. Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, still a bit wary. As much as he enjoyed checking up on their other human friends, this wasn’t exactly the sort of conversation he’d expected an audience for. “AJ! Aziraphale! Hope you don’t mind a little more company.”

“Certainly not.” That seemed to be genuine; if Aziraphale was worried, he wasn’t showing it. Crowley wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not.

Whether his expression gave him away – he hoped not – or it was just indicative of how well Anathema had gotten to know him, she seemed to read Crowley’s unease. She approached him, putting a hand on his arm. “Relax. It’s kind of obvious why you’re here – and, yes, it’s fine.” She chuckled. “If you think I didn’t see this coming…”

“Got a bit of Agnes’ gift?” Crowley joked, beginning to feel the slightest bit relieved. He turned to gauge Aziraphale’s reaction, but he’d already joined Tracey at the table and was making ridiculous faces at the baby. 

Anathema shook her head, but she was smiling. “Oh, please; it wasn’t that hard. You show up here, looking spooked, and practically throw a baby at us…and, then, after sorting it out, you realize you may have overreacted—”

“I did _not_ overreact,” Crowley protested, though he knew damned well he had. “I didn’t have all the details at the time, is all.”

Fortunately, Anathema ignored his flimsy excuses and allowed him to save face. “Either way, it was pretty clear how this was going to turn out. And forgive me for assuming that you two are going to be winging it at first – no pun intended.”

“You could say that.”

Anathema shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Most human parents end up doing the same thing, especially the first time around.”

Adam looked up. “Yeah, you ought to ask Brian’s mum about the time they left him at the library.”

Tracey gave him a fondly exasperated look. “Please, dear – we’re trying to put them at ease, not terrify them.”

Adam sat up, shrugging. “I’m just saying, humans do stupid things all the time and most of their kids turn out all right. And…well, my parents managed to do okay with me, and they don’t have any special powers or anything. It should work out fine.”

Crowley found that strangely comforting. Ironic, that he and Aziraphale had spent so long trying to raise the Antichrist, only to have two humans do a better job than they ever could have. “Right, then. So…what is this, group therapy? Advice session?” He was going to add that none of them had raised a child, either, but he realized he didn’t know that for sure where Tracey was concerned. Assumptions had gotten him in enough trouble lately.

Anathema laughed. “What, your friends can’t come together to meet the little one and give you a few baby gifts?”

* * *

“A few,” as it turned out, was an understatement. They had, collectively, gone overboard – but Crowley was touched, and he could see in Aziraphale’s face that the angel was too. Being the recipient of kindness just for friendship’s sake was still an alien concept to Crowley and he was reluctant to admit how much he _liked_ it. And it was probably good that humans had done the shopping, because they’d gotten a few things Crowley would never have thought to buy. He looked at the brightly-colored dummy the baby was happily sucking on, noticing that there were a few packages of extras. “Do we really need so many of those?”

Anathema nodded. “Trust me – I used to babysit all the time, and the things just disappear.”

“What do they even do?” Crowley asked; he’d always wondered, but never had a good reason to look into it. 

“Well, from what I’ve read, it satisfies their psychological need for oral stimulation,” Newt explained, “but I mostly think of it like a temporary mute button.”

“Mute button, hmm? Sounds promising. I’ll have to try it the next time he’s on about Chaucer.” Crowley picked up one of the spares, experimentally popping it into Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Aziraphale looked momentarily flustered, then took it out, shaking his head. “Really, Crowley?”

Crowley shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

* * *

It felt strange to see the Bentley’s back seat packed up with baby gear and a car seat – which, despite the car’s lack of seat belts, had been made to fit perfectly and wasn’t going anywhere. And, as lovely as the visit was, soon it was time for them to head home to the part that _really_ made Crowley nervous, when they’d be on their own trying to figure this out. Or Aziraphale would, anyway, but Crowley still had to factor the child’s presence into their new normal.

Adam bounced the baby on the way to the car. “Now, listen, buddy. I’m gonna give you a little advice, y’know, Antichrist to…whatever you are.” The baby was watching him intently – though, to be fair, Crowley had noticed he did that to most people. “There’s nothing like you and there’s nothing like me, far as I know. But we’re the closest thing that’s around to us. So if you ever need help figuring it out, when you’re old enough to realize…well, you’ll know where to find me.”

Aziraphale leaned in closer to Crowley. “Is it just me, or does he look like he understands what Adam’s telling him?”

“It’s just you.” Crowley patted Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Witchfinder Junior was telling me more about that book he read – apparently infants are nearsighted. He probably can’t see a bloody thing just yet, especially if he hasn’t learned to adjust his eyes properly.” The slitted pupils could take some getting used to, though at least the baby had the advantage of never knowing anything different. If one could consider that an advantage, really.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Adam’s right, though. They’re both children of multiple realms. Adam can control reality as well as we can - better, actually - and we have no idea what the little one is capable of yet.”

“Princes of the universe, hmm?” Crowley suggested. 

Aziraphale’s little smile indicated he’d caught the reference, even if he didn’t admit it. “In a matter of speaking.”

Anathema came over to them after tucking the last package into the Bentley. “Well, that’s it, then. Suppose you’ll be on your way.”

Aziraphale took her hands in his. “Truly, I can’t thank you enough for looking out for him. And…everything.”

“Of course.” She kissed his cheek. “I know it’s a bit of a jaunt, but if you ever need babysitters, we’re only a call away. You know we adore him. And there are some lovely homes not far from here…” She gave them both a questioning look.

“Let’s not bring on too many changes at once.” Crowley could only handle so much disruption to his routine at one time. “But, yeah…thanks.” He was definitely appreciative, but he wasn’t inclined to be as effusive about it as Aziraphale. He knew Anathema understood. 

“You’re quite welcome.” Anathema took the baby, showing them how to buckle him into the car seat properly. “There you go, Bub. Safe and sound.” She took Aziraphale’s hand as well as Crowley’s, squeezing them quickly. “Good luck, you two. And, AJ?”

“Yeah?” Crowley asked.

“Text me when you’ve decided on a name. I’d like to know what to call him.”

* * *

Naming the child was proving to be easier said than done. One of the gifts had been a book of baby names, and Aziraphale had naturally been drawn to all the pretentious ones. “What about Alastair? It means ‘defender of mankind.’”

The name’s meaning was apt, but Crowley wrinkled his nose. “I mean, he’s _your_ kid, but…”

“Crowley, you said you’d help me with this.” Aziraphale didn’t even bother to look put-out; he went straight to the pleading eyes that Crowley was helpless to resist. “What do you suggest, then?”

“You didn’t like my idea,” Crowley reminded him.

“You are _not_ calling him ‘Little Bastard.’”

“Fine.” Crowley only kept bringing it up because of the faces Aziraphale made; they were highly entertaining. “What about Bentley?”

Aziraphale frowned. “It might get confusing. Perhaps as a middle name, though.”

Crowley was a little surprised; he honestly hadn’t expected Aziraphale to go for it. He did like the idea, though, the more he thought of it. “Okay, so there’s at least one part of it down. I suppose you’ll want to be perfectly posh and give him more than one middle name. Though is it really middle, at that point, or just extras?” He’d never really understood human naming conventions.

Aziraphale looked hopeful. “Alastair, then?”

“Ah, hell, you really like that one, don’t you?” Crowley snorted a little as Aziraphale nodded. “Fine, Something Bentley Alastair. Gotta watch the order, in case the first name would let it spell something.”

“Oh, good point.” Aziraphale looked contemplative, looking down at the sleeping baby. “That nice young man who used to hang around you and Freddie, at the clubs…what was his name again?”

“Elton?” He’d only been one of them, but he was the first one who came to mind. “Really more of a surname, don’t you think?” Not that Bentley _wasn’t_, but that was different. 

Aziraphale paged through the book again. “Neil? ‘Champion’ or ‘cloud’…well, that’s quite a range of meaning.”

“Best skip it, then.” Crowley sighed, feeling a bit dramatic – not that it was a rare state of being for him. “’It’s something else you are after, if you could but formulate it.’”

Aziraphale smiled appreciatively. “D.H. Lawrence.” He looked back at Crowley questioningly. “Lawrence?”

“After you’ve already got Alastair?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale didn’t fight him on it; he must not have much invested in the name. “David, then?”

“No kings.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley couldn’t even come up with a good reason, when pressed. “Well, we don’t want to set up expectations he feels pressured to live up to, right?” Aziraphale would probably buy that.

“Fine.” Aziraphale shook his head. “At this rate, we’ll be at this all night.”

“‘What’s in a name? That which we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.’” It amused Crowley to quote literature at Aziraphale, especially given their familiarity with Shakespeare – though he was absolutely going to veto Romeo if Aziraphale dared suggest it.

“William…” Aziraphale murmured.

“Not bad.” Crowley shrugged. “And not a king…yet.” Historically, perhaps, but that wasn’t a hill Crowley was willing to die on when they were getting somewhere. He didn’t even know why he cared so much. But, somehow, he did. “Still could do with something a bit more modern, considering the other names.”

Aziraphale consulted the book’s entry on the name. “’Resolute protector’…well, that’s perfect, too.” He read further, looking back at Crowley after a moment. “What about Liam?”

“Liam Bentley Alastair,” Crowley repeated, trying it out. It felt good on his tongue. And, on principle, he was pleased that he’d gotten at least part of the kid’s initials to be L.B. “I like it.”

“So do I.” Aziraphale scooped the baby out of the infant seat and into his arms, cuddling him. “What do you think?”

The newly-christened baby merely yawned. “Doesn’t look like he objects,” Crowley observed.

“Then that settles it.” Aziraphale held the child close, smiling in a tender way that made Crowley feel things he would rather not have had to process at the moment, so he didn’t. “Welcome home, Liam.”

* * *


	9. These Are the Days of Our Lives

* * *

_Heaven_

“You seem particularly upset about this.” Michael wasn’t one for social questions when she had already reached the obvious conclusion. 

With anyone else, Gabriel might have bothered to pretend, to put on a cheerful expression and insist everything was going to be just fine. But Michael wouldn’t buy it, and so he didn’t waste the energy. If anything, he wondered how she could be so calm. “I’m not exactly used to our plans backfiring on us. And of course _he’s_ involved.”

“Yes, and the demon. Of course.” Michael rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it right now. The fledglings took time to come into their powers. There’s no immediate rush to figure things out.”

Time was something they had quite a bit of, these days, but Gabriel was used to being in control. To being the one with a plan and the means to execute it. The fact that he’d had precious little of that security since Armageddon had fallen apart only added to his restlessness. Michael was right; the only power the angel/demon hybrid was likely to evidence in the near future would be accidental, but that only bought them a few years. Maybe a little longer, given the human form. “Perhaps not, but have you considered the implications? That _abomination_ could be immune to both hellfire and holy water!”

“It would seem his sires already are.” Michael snorted disdainfully, but Gabriel had caught the wariness in her eyes that she looked away to cover.

Gabriel groaned. “Don’t remind me. All the more reason we should be worried, if you ask me.” He chewed on his lower lip briefly, thinking. He _knew_ what he’d seen; he’d _felt_ the uncomfortable heat of the hellfire, even at a distance. There was almost no chance their demon associate had brought the ordinary mortal variety…and, in any case, that _still_ should have done some damage. But he wanted to reach for something, anything, that could explain what had happened. “Is there any chance that we were mistaken? That…_somehow_…”

Michael shot him a dark look. “I blessed that water _myself_, and I know what I saw.”

Gabriel held his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not questioning _you_.” In the immediate aftermath, they’d been too shaken to analyze it, but now he felt like the _how_ mattered. “Do you think it could possibly be their association with one another?” Demons and angels weren’t meant to mingle, after all. “If, somehow, there was some…I don’t know, transference?” Physiology wasn’t really his field; he left that to the scientists. 

“Possibly.” Michael sighed. “I still think you’re analyzing it too much. Keeping our distance was well and good when they were only dangerous because of their immunities. This new twist changes things. There are plenty of other things I’m sure they aren’t immune to if it came down to a fight. We’ll do what we have to do in the end. And, in the meantime, we keep an eye on them – and the abomination.”

“Yes, but how?” Their usual methods of observation left too much to chance for Gabriel’s liking. 

She shrugged. “Zachariel’s been looking for a chance to stretch his wings, and we know we can trust him. As much as I’d normally hate to send him to that ridiculous planet…”

Gabriel rarely questioned Michael’s ideas, but he couldn’t help but think she was missing the obvious. “Are you sure that’s wise? If they run across him, they’ll _know_ he’s an angel.”

Michael drew closer to him, cupping his cheek in her hand. “Yes, darling, but have you forgotten how delightfully gullible Aziraphale is?” She didn’t avoid saying his name like the others, wanting to prove she wasn’t afraid of him. “And they’ll have no idea exactly who Zachariel is.”

Gabriel considered it – their child, watching the one of their adversaries. The most ideal product of the Program, and the worst. “There is a certain beauty to it, my love.” In public, they had to be all business, but he enjoyed these moments where they could lower their guard.

“Then it’s settled.” Michael pulled away, composing herself before turning toward the door of Gabriel’s office. “We’ll observe and we’ll formulate a plan.”

Gabriel leaned back against his desk. “Which one of us gets to tell Zachariel he has to go to Earth?”

“I’ll do it,” Michael volunteered. 

“Good idea.” Gabriel chuckled. Zachariel was close to both of them, but especially her. “He’s never been able to deny you anything.”

Michael threw him a smile over her shoulder. “He gets it from you.”

Gabriel knew he probably should have protested as he watched her slip out the door…but, as much as he hated to admit it, she wasn’t wrong.

* * *

_Tadfield_

Crowley shouldn’t have been surprised, really, that they had ended up moving to Tadfield after all. Petersfield had been lovely, but it had been a quiet spot they’d chosen at random after finding a place they liked. And, once a new normal had been established with a baby in the household, it did help to be closer to their friends. The humans had a saying about it taking a village to raise a child, and Crowley was certainly beginning to see the truth in that. 

A little over three months since their lives had been turned upside down by Liam’s arrival, Crowley and Aziraphale risked shaking things up again and made the move. Aziraphale had fallen in love with a little cottage on the edge of town, and it had grown on Crowley fast. His only initial reluctance had been his resistance to change, but once he’d gotten past that, things moved right along. As long as he could transplant his favorites from the garden – with a minor miracle or two to be sure even the most fragile plants survived the move – Crowley was content. It also helped that the new place was slightly bigger, because for someone so small, Liam certainly had accumulated a lot of stuff.

Crowley had just sealed the envelope containing his monthly payment to the Witchfinder Army when Aziraphale walked into the kitchen, looking concerned. “What’s wrong, Angel?”

“We…might have a problem.” Aziraphale sometimes countered Crowley’s dramatics by staying eerily calm when plans went awry, and Crowley still wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. Either way, it was a sure sign something was up. 

Crowley set the envelope on the table, frowning. “And what might that be?”

“The baby’s on fire.”

Aziraphale had been so matter-of-fact about it that Crowley was sure he must have misheard. “Excuse me?”

“Liam.” Aziraphale wrung his hands together. “He’s on fire. Or…he was.”

Crowley didn’t dare ask any more questions; instead, he hurried into the nursery. Refreshingly, Liam was _not_ on fire, though the charred outline around his body as he sucked on his fingers in the crib suggested that he might have been at one point. Crowley found himself grateful for flame-retardant clothes and bedding. “Cripes. This could be an issue.” Most demons just channeled regular mortal fire, saving hellfire for special occasions and, rarely, official paperwork, but who knew what to expect in this case? 

After watching for a moment to see if it would happen again, Crowley picked Liam up, looking down at him. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable holding the child, but it was safer for him to do it than Aziraphale, given the circumstances. “Okay, L.B., flame on.”

Aziraphale groaned from the doorway. “_Must_ you keep calling him that? It’s not as if I don’t know what you intend it to mean.”

“Yes, I must.” Crowley held Liam at arm’s length, examining him. “Come on, work with me here. Show me how you did that.” Liam only smiled at him. It was cute, but hardly what Crowley was looking for.

Aziraphale shook his head, coming over to take Liam into his arms. “Crowley, he’s a baby, not a bomb. Now, lamb, would you do that again for Crowley?”

“Ngk.” Crowley took the baby back, though he did tuck Liam into one arm. “Until we know for sure it’s just garden-variety flames, you’d better let me handle this.” He held up one finger, summoning a small flame on the tip as an example. “Look, like this.” He extinguished the flame, then gestured to Liam with the same hand. “Your turn.”

Liam calmly took advantage of the opportunity to begin examining his own hand. Seconds later, however, he sneezed and his entire body was briefly ablaze.

Crowley blinked, staring at the infant, then Aziraphale. “Well…the good news is, it’s standard mortal fire.”

“And the bad news?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley handed Liam to Aziraphale now that he was confident it was safe. “His precision sucks.” At least he didn’t have to worry about the kid accidentally killing Aziraphale. It wouldn’t exactly be pleasant if Liam happened to burst into flame while Aziraphale was holding him, but it wouldn’t be deadly.

“So what do we do?” Aziraphale asked, settling Liam against his shoulder.

“I don’t know; keep a fire extinguisher handy?” Crowley shrugged. “This kind of thing is way out of my league.”

“I honestly didn’t expect him to come into his powers so early,” Aziraphale murmured, stroking the baby’s back. “Adam didn’t.”

“Adam’s a different beast entirely – no pun intended,” Crowley reminded him. “He wasn’t _meant_ to come into his powers until later. This kid…well, technically, he was never meant to exist, so I’ve got no _clue_ what’s going to happen.”

“I suppose we’re writing the book as we go.” Aziraphale brushed a kiss against the top of Liam’s head before putting him back in the crib. His expression was hard to read, but he looked vaguely worried. Was this the moment he realized they had no idea what they were doing, something Crowley had been sure of from the beginning? He moved to the kitchen, distractedly beginning to prepare a cup of cocoa, and Crowley trailed behind him. “Tracey’s coming by this afternoon to see Liam; I’d thought we could take advantage of the opportunity to slip out for a spot of lunch. Do you still think it’s safe?”

“Yeah, probably.” Crowley didn’t want to put any of their friends in danger, either, but he wasn’t sure that there was much to be done at this point. “Just tell her to be careful and maybe wear something flame-resistant. I’m sure we have oven mitts, at the very least.”

That at least got Aziraphale to smile. “If you’re sure. We wouldn’t be going far, and she has your mobile number…”

“It’ll be fine,” Crowley assured him. “Stop being such a mother hen.”

“Saves you a trip, anyway.” Aziraphale nodded toward the envelope for the Witchfinder Army, which was still lying on the table. “She can take that with her.”

Crowley looked at him, briefly startled. He hadn’t been trying to keep it a secret, exactly, but he hadn’t been aware that Aziraphale was paying attention. “Don’t read anything into it, Angel. We never know when we might need their services again. It’s not _nice_, it’s practical.”

Aziraphale’s smile widened a little more. “What, as if I haven’t been doing the same?” He sat down at the table, cupping his favorite mug in his hands. “Call it whatever you want if it makes you feel better.”

Crowley should have known. “That’s fair.” He nodded appreciatively as Aziraphale pushed a mug of black coffee across the table toward him. Had that been there before, or had he just been distracted? “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, given what we learned from Warlock and Adam. It makes sense, give the little guy a normal life. But here’s the thing, Angel: we won’t ever have a life that’s ‘normal,’ no matter how hard we try. It’s not in our nature.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly. “I suppose we’ll have to try for the next closest thing.”

“Next to normal…seems like a more realistic goal.” Crowley chuckled. “And this does seem to be the town for that.”

“So it does,” Aziraphale agreed. “Now…what did you want to do for lunch?”

* * *

To her credit, Tracey had barely blinked when Crowley handed her a pair of oven mitts and told her to keep them handy, just in case. Of course, any of them that had been at the airfield that day had seen enough unbelievable things that a baby who caught fire occasionally was little more than a blip on the radar. 

They’d ended up at a pub in town, one Newt had recommended, and were lingering over their drinks after lunch when Aziraphale shook his head, sighing. The conversation had been light, mostly, but it was clear Aziraphale’s mind was elsewhere. “I’m beginning to worry we might be in over our heads.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re just realizing that _now_?” He glanced around, smelling something _off_ in the air. It didn’t feel like a threat, just…different. Unexpected. He didn’t worry about humans eavesdropping on them; their natural abilities left most humans ignoring them entirely if it wasn’t something they were meant to overhear. Was it the natural feel of Tadfield these days, loved but just the slightest bit strange, that he was still getting used to? “We are in entirely uncharted territory, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale looked lost in thought. “Liam seems to have tapped into the powers he’s inherited from your side first. I don’t even know what to expect.”

“What, like I do?” Crowley might have known his own power set, but he had no idea if Liam had all of it or just bits and pieces. Never mind what being a hybrid might do to all that. “It’s not like demons have babies.”

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Two did, though, didn’t they? Adam’s biological mother, you said. She wouldn’t be exactly the same as Liam, of course, but…”

“Yeah, that’s what Beelzebub told me, but what does that do for us?” Crowley shrugged. “We have no idea if she’s still living on Earth, where to find her, or what she might remember of her childhood. Not to mention her _name_ – we don’t know that, either. And I’m certainly not keen on calling Dagon up again to get details.”

A woman leaned between them, grinning slyly. “Ever heard of the term ‘speak of the devil,’ boys?”

Aziraphale jumped, while Crowley tried to pretend like he hadn’t. “Ma’am?” Aziraphale looked her over warily, while she slid onto the barstool that had been between them like it was her throne.

Before Crowley could protest, or even get a proper question out, the woman introduced herself. “Nice to meet you, officially. I’m Lilith Morningstar – the one and only graduate of Hell’s breeding program.” She was beautiful, with a faint Israeli accent, but nothing other than that would have set her apart in a crowd of humans. 

So that explained why she’d even taken notice of their conversation, and how she knew them. Crowley found her timing suspicious, however. “What are you doing here?”

Lilith shrugged. “What, a mother can’t check up on her boy now and then?”

“Adam’s sixteen years old,” Crowley pointed out. “Where have you been?”

Lilith rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. While you two geniuses were off playing nanny and gardener to the wrong child, Mommy Dearest was here, keeping an eye on Adam. I didn’t interfere, of course, but I wanted to be sure he was all right. Especially given the mix-up…though, in the end, I think that worked out better for him.”

“You’re welcome.” Crowley had a reputation to maintain, after all. As he got a taste of Lilith’s personality, he was beginning to figure out how to play her game. “Lilith, hmm? Weren’t you supposed to be a jackal?”

Lilith shrugged, her tone cheeky. “I’m whatever I want to be.”

“Ah, a feminist, then.” Crowley frowned, suddenly recalling something from a nature documentary he’d watched. “Wait, don’t jackals eat snakes?” Clearly, she already knew about them; he wasn’t going to let her think he was afraid of her, but he was still trying to figure out her angle.

“Only if you piss me off enough.” Lilith turned toward Aziraphale, her expression softening a bit as she saw the way he was staring at her. “Don’t look so worried. I’m not here to hurt you or your little man. But, as you may have noticed, you don’t have a clue what you’re doing. I thought I’d offer myself as a resource while I’m in town. Though I’m sure you’ll have a million questions first.”

Aziraphale relaxed a little at that. “You were really just here to check up on Adam?”

Lilith nodded. “Yes. Fate, or the universe, or whatever you want to call it, has funny ways of working sometimes. I pop in every so often to see how he’s doing. I’d heard bits and pieces of him and his friends talking, enough to know that he _might_ not be the only supernatural child to be concerned with anymore. As for all three of us happening to get lunch here, at the same time…well, there’s only two decent pubs _in_ Tadfield. Luck of the draw. And I figured you’d take it better if I approached you in public.”

That was probably true. Neutral territory was best for these sorts of meetings. Crowley honestly wasn’t sure how they’d have reacted if Lilith had shown up on their doorstep – though at least now he knew why something had felt strange earlier. “And I suppose it was absolutely necessary for you to scare Aziraphale half to death when you showed up.”

Lilith laughed. “What can I say? I’m an artist. There was no way I was going to miss that kind of opening.” 

Crowley could give her that. He inclined his head as she snapped her fingers at the jukebox and David Bowie’s “Changes” began to play. “At least you’ve got decent taste in music.” Not wanting to let her have the upper hand, though, he snapped at the jukebox and the song switched to Freddie Mercury’s version of “The Great Pretender.”

“Really?” Lilith shook her head, chuckling at the humans who were puzzling over the jukebox’s strange behavior and entirely oblivious to those who were responsible for it. She snapped her fingers again; this time, it was David Bowie and Queen singing “Under Pressure.” “Call it even?”

“Yeah, all right.” Crowley would let her have that one. “What did you manage to burn down when you were a kid?”

Lilith sighed. “An Ohio penitentiary. 1930. Three hundred twenty-two deaths, two hundred thirty injured.”

Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, my.”

Crowley hadn’t really been expecting her to answer. “Seriously?”

She rolled her eyes. “I was _five, _and my mothers told me it was just ‘practice.’ And, in my defense, there wouldn’t have been nearly as many casualties if the guards had actually let people out of their cells.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah, the humans manage to get up to more than enough on their own, don’t they?”

“That they do.” Lilith glanced at Aziraphale, holding her hands out placatingly. “Don’t get your feathers in a twist. I’m a demon by birth, and…yes, I’ve made some questionable choices over the years. But Lucifer and I aren’t on what you’d call speaking terms these days. I’m a free agent now, like you two. No one’s side but my own.”

Aziraphale nodded. He still looked wary, but Crowley could tell he was willing to hear Lilith out. “With that in mind, what makes you so inclined to help us?”

“I feel a certain kinship with your little one,” Lilith answered. “He’s one of a kind, like I am…like Adam is. And with the human bodies we’re bound to by the circumstances of our creation, there are things we share that neither of you have experienced.” She smiled, a tender look coming over her face. “Besides, you two stood with Adam at the airfield that day, when I couldn’t. You’ve watched out for him since. I remember those things.”

Aziraphale softened visibly. “In that case, one parent to another…I’d appreciate the help.” He glanced over at Crowley. “What do you think?”

It was beginning to seem like Lilith had been a pawn of Hell since the beginning. Crowley wondered if she resented getting jerked around by them as much as he did, even if she seemed to take it in stride. A breezy attitude could cover a lot; he should know. And, if another face-off did come, they could use as many allies as they could get. “Eh, she’s growing on me. Let’s give her a chance.”

* * *

The Bentley had insisted upon playing “Killer Queen” as soon as Lilith got in, and Crowley was legitimately beginning to question if his car had developed a sense of humor. 

As always, Tracey had taken excellent care of Liam, and he’d apparently managed _not_ to generate any more flames, because she was still questioning what the oven mitts were supposed to be for. Of course, Crowley had to figure she was well-accustomed to general weirdness, even where demons and angels weren’t involved. She’d married _Shadwell_, after all.

“Oh, is this one of the new neighbors?” Tracey asked cheerily, waving to Lilith as she stepped into the living room.

“New neighbors?” Crowley asked. That sounded like far too much expected socialization with humans for his liking.

“I spoke to the nicest young man this afternoon; he’s just moved in down the lane,” Tracey explained.

“Oh, no, I’m just in from Tel Aviv,” Lilith said, smiling graciously. “Anthony’s an old friend of my mother’s.”

Crowley doubted that, but it was a good enough cover story. 

“How lovely.” Tracey hugged Aziraphale as she handed Liam back to him, then gave the baby a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ve got to get home to feed Jezebel, now…you all take care.”

“Ciao.” Crowley waved, allowing her a quick side hug as she left. 

“Who’s Jezebel?” Lilith asked, looking amused.

“Her cat.” Crowley could admit that it was a solid choice, as far as animal names went. Apparently, Shadwell hadn’t deemed that one too bizarre. 

Aziraphale smiled as he sat on the couch with Liam. “We’ll have to welcome the young man to the neighborhood.”

“We’ve been here a month; that doesn’t make us the welcome wagon. But you have fun with that.” Crowley knew Aziraphale was going to do it anyway; there was no sense in fighting it. 

Lilith moved to stand near Aziraphale, smiling as she looked at Liam. She held out her arms. “May I?”

Aziraphale nodded, handing the baby to her, though he kept watching carefully. Crowley would have expected nothing less; he just kept his observation more casual. 

Lilith cradled Liam expertly; she might not have raised Adam, but she clearly had experience with children. As he watched her, she curled her lips and flashed her fangs at him. Crowley tensed out of habit, but there was no menace in her gesture, only playfulness – and Liam seemed to recognize it, because he smiled. “Hey, shorty. Nice eyes.” She glanced at Crowley, who cheerfully raised his middle finger at her. “What? They look good on him.” Her attention back on the baby, she made a soft humming noise, bouncing him gently. “It's always nice to find strangers like me in this world. I think you'll feel the same, when you get older. You’d better buckle in, babe, because it’s going to be one wild ride.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kudos, comments, and support! <3 It definitely motivates me to get more written ASAP.
> 
> Also, for those who are curious, my version of Lilith is modeled after Cote de Pablo, with the accent she uses as Ziva in NCIS.


	10. If You Can't Beat Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, as always, for all your kudos and comments! They all make me smile. Also, since I mentioned my fantasy-casting for Lilith in the last chapter, I might as well share it for Zachariel, too - Aaron Tveit, particularly this picture of him: https://thewestfieldnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/aTveit_Aaron_2x3.jpg

* * *

_Chapter 9: If You Can’t Beat Them_

Most children stopped referring to their socialization as “playing” and graduated to “hanging out” as they became teenagers, but The Them had refined the concept further. They had business meetings – which, given their successful foray into selling “I Survived Armageddon” t-shirts online, wasn’t entirely a misnomer. Their website, Keep Tadfield Weird, attracted quite a bit of traffic, and every so often, #KeepTadfieldWeird would start trending on social media. Even more exciting, they’d managed to attract a few tourists who couldn’t resist seeing what the fuss was about. Overall, they were quite pleased with themselves. Their “official” meetings were impromptu, but regular. Adam liked it that way; he’d never been much for schedules. 

“I really think we should consider incorporating,” Wensleydale suggested. “Properly, with all the paperwork.” He glanced at Pepper, clearly anticipating her objections. “I know, rampant capitalism and all, but we’ll still be at the heart of it. Legal establishment would give us more options, especially when it comes to investments. And we’ll still have our same obligations to be responsible about who we support, naturally.”

Pepper nodded. “That’s fair, and if we’re trying to expand our reach, it could help to be taken seriously.” She scooted subtly closer to Wensleydale, but not subtly enough that Adam missed it. They’d been making eyes at each other for the last couple of years, and as much as he wanted to give them a nudge to kiss already and get it over with, he respected them too much to intervene. He was sure they’d get to it in their own time. 

Brian frowned. “That can get expensive, can’t it? I mean, sales have been all right, but I’d hate to depend on that to cover everything.” He’d been put in charge of logistics, as he was more action than ideas. In the end, it had suited him as well as the financial affairs did Wensleydale. Adam, of course, was the president, and Pepper handled operations and their media accounts. Dog’s official title was President of Public Relations, but in reality, Pepper covered that and Dog was more of a mascot. He _was_ just a dog, after all.

Wensleysdale shrugged. “Yes, it can, but given the latest donation to the Keep Tadfield Weird Fund, we’ve got more than enough to cover it.” He held out a paper check for them to examine it.

Brian blinked at the amount. “Yeah, that’d do it. How’d we come into a corporate donation, anyhow?”

“No idea,” Wensleydale said. “It just came in the mail today with a note that said, and I quote, ‘Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing.’”

Pepper squinted at the check. “It’s no one I’ve heard of. Leviathan Holdings? We’d better research it before we cash that, just to make sure it’s someone we’re comfortable accepting money from. Good neighbors and all that – or neutral, at the very least.”

Wensleydale was already on it, using his phone to look it up. “Huh, funny you mention neutral. There’s not much on them, actually, but Leviathan Holdings was the parent company of a nightclub called Neutral Ground that was big in the late seventies and into the eighties. It was known for being a safe place for creatives and misfits of society.”

Pepper smiled. “Well, that’s promising. What are they up to these days?”

“That’s the strange thing.” Wensleydale frowned at his phone. “Neutral Ground closed in December 1991, and I can’t find anything on Leviathan since.” He typed in a few more search modifiers. “Maybe if I track down the owner…oh.” He grinned, looking up at them. “You’ll love this. Seems Leviathan Holdings was owned and operated by a wealthy socialite by the name of Anthony J. Crowley.”

Adam laughed. “Sounds like him, all right.” He pulled out his phone, sending Crowley a quick text. _Thanks for the $...much appreciated. Bit of a rabbit hole, though, don’t you think?_

Crowley replied quickly with a shrugging emoji. _Kept you occupied. You’re welcome._

Adam sent back a laughing smiley. _Well, thanks again. I’m sure we’ll put it to good use. _As an afterthought, he added, _How’s the little guy?_

_He’s on fire these days. Literally._

Adam chuckled, sure that would be an interesting tale. His phone buzzed again, and he looked down at it. 

_By the way, your mum says hi._

A smile spread across Adam’s face. He’d only met his biological mother the year before, and she’d been reluctant to introduce herself then. But Adam had only been able to reign in his curiosity for so long when he’d seen a mysterious woman every few months who seemed to be watching him, but never tried to interact. Finally, he’d approached her. And it made sense, that she hadn’t wanted to interfere, but he’d seen her so many times over the years…and felt a presence he couldn’t quite describe before then, particularly when he’d been small. Adam hoped to talk to her more someday. He loved his parents dearly, the ones that had raised him, and they would always be his parents. But, as he got older, he found he wanted to get to know Lilith a bit. If she would let him. He could sense the love in her, as he’d learned to explore feelings and not just toy with reality, but he could also sense the fear. Of what, he wasn’t sure. But, then, given what he’d learned of Hell from Crowley, Lilith probably had her reasons. There was more he wanted to say than a text could properly convey, especially with a third party involved, so Adam finally settled on _Tell her hi from me, too._

* * *

As Lilith departed after her visit, Crowley got the impression that he and Aziraphale hadn’t seen the last of her. He couldn’t say he minded. She wasn’t really on their side any more than he could say they were on hers, but the three of them had become allies nonetheless. And, with all that was going on, allies were always appreciated.

Crowley watched as Aziraphale changed Liam’s outfit. “What’s he getting dressed up for?”

“I thought I’d take him with me to meet our new neighbor,” Aziraphale replied. “That’s usually the custom, isn’t it? To bring one’s family?” 

Crowley sniffed, smelling cookies in the oven that he knew hadn’t been there a minute before. “Maybe? I don’t know. I say you just bring the treats over and be done with it. I can watch the kid for a few minutes.” They hadn’t really taken him out in public yet, and while it was undoubtedly best to start small, this wasn’t what Crowley had in mind. “I don’t see why we can’t just wave from the road as we drive by anyhow.”

“Because this is how people do things in small towns.” Aziraphale smiled. “And if we’re to be living the small-town life…”

“Fine, fine.” Crowley groaned. He didn’t figure it was worth explaining to Aziraphale the way humans tended to freak out if they saw his eyes, and it wasn’t nearly close enough to Halloween to put Liam in a dragon costume or something and hope the neighbors assumed it was part of the aesthetic. Suddenly, the logical solution occurred to him. He snapped his fingers and a tiny pair of sunglasses appeared on Liam’s face. 

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, but then smiled. “Aw. I do believe it suits him.”

Liam didn’t take the glasses off immediately, as Crowley had half-expected him to, so it seemed this might work. “It’s a shame they don’t make Valentinos in his size. Probably just as well. They’d end up in his mouth eventually, like everything else does.” He sighed, rising from the sofa. “Let’s get this over with, then.”

Aziraphale looked hopeful. “You’re coming with us?”

Crowley sighed. His shoulders were aching more than usual, but it wasn’t the sort of thing rest would help with, so he couldn’t even use that excuse to talk himself out of it. “Don’t read anything into it. I’m just trying to keep you from pulling the puppy eyes out on me.”

* * *

It was a beautiful day and the newly-occupied cottage was only a short walk down the lane. Still, Crowley found himself growing more and more uneasy as they approached. “Something’s not right.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Something feels…_ethereal._” When Aziraphale gestured vaguely at himself as if to suggest the reason for that was obvious, Crowley scowled. “Not _you_.” He’d become quite accustomed to and fond of Aziraphale’s energy signature. This was different – and it wasn’t Liam’s, either, which was muted but distinct. “Can’t you feel it?” While Aziraphale didn’t sense angels as a threat the way Crowley did – at least, he hadn’t until a few years ago – he should have been even more sensitive to the presence of one than Crowley.

Aziraphale looked around, pausing in the driveway as they approached the neighbors’ home. “Now that you mention it, something does feel like Heaven.” An unreadable look flashed across his face and Crowley couldn’t tell if that was disappointment that the sensation was no longer comforting or concern for what it might imply. 

A figure, radiating with that angelic energy, approached Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t think; he acted. He shoved Aziraphale and Liam behind him, drawing himself up protectively. “What are you doing here?”

The stranger stepped back, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Whoa, I didn’t mean to startle you.” His accent was American. He glanced from Crowley to Aziraphale and back again. “So you’re the legendary survivors.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder at Aziraphale, who showed no sign of recognition as they got a look at this angel. He was nearly Crowley’s height and similarly lanky, with honey-blond hair and blue eyes that were a different shade than Aziraphale’s, but just as piercing. “You didn’t answer my question. Let’s try another one. Who are you?”

The angel extended a hand, which Crowley didn’t shake. “My name’s Zachariel – though I’ll probably be going by Zach among these humans. You know, fitting in.” He smiled. “Maybe I could get some advice on you two from that.”

“You seem to know us already,” Aziraphale observed.

Zachariel chuckled. “Are you kidding? The entire host knows about you. Not that I think it’s a bad thing. If anything, I’m a little envious. Hellfire immunity, that’s not a bad skill to have.”

Aziraphale frowned, shifting Liam to his other hip, which put him the slightest bit further away from Zachariel. “I thought Heaven wasn’t looking to put many more agents on Earth, since the whole apocalypse thing didn’t pan out.”

Zachariel shook his head. “They haven’t been. I had to beg for this opportunity. I’ve always wanted to study this planet more – and with things settled, it seems like a great time.” He lowered his voice, leaning in conspiratorially, which only made Crowley lean back further in a move that would have been unfeasible for any creature with a less serpentine spine. “This isn’t exactly a popular take, up there, but I’m a little relieved about how it worked out. It would have been a shame for things to end before I’d gotten the chance to explore this place the Almighty loves so much.”

Aziraphale stepped forward, standing at Crowley’s side, but kept Liam between them. “I can respect that. But why Tadfield?”

“Yeah.” Crowley crossed his arms over his chest. “Wouldn’t you have stood out less in someplace like New York, where you could just blend in with a crowd?” And where a demon and angel weren’t living down the lane with their infant spawn?

“Probably,” Zachariel agreed, “but this little town is so much more fascinating. Especially since this was where it nearly ended. And…I was created for the end of the world, so I felt drawn to it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “You were part of the Program.”

Zachariel nodded. “I suppose you could say I’m trying to find my purpose in this strange new world. Well…obviously, my purpose is to serve Her, but I’ve been floundering while finding the best way to go about it. Most of the others, they adapted and moved on, but…I felt a bit lost. I thought some time here might help.”

Aziraphale nodded. “That makes sense. In that case, I wish you luck.”

“Thanks. I may need it.” Zachariel waved at Liam, making a face at him. The baby smiled, but he smiled for everybody. “I see you have a fledgling of your own. The Program, I assume?”

“Yes, this is Liam.” Aziraphale looked guarded. 

“Lucky for him, arriving when he did,” Zachariel said, looking wistful briefly. “He’ll have the chance to be whatever he wants someday.”

“Yes, so he will.” Aziraphale bounced Liam. “We’d best be getting back; he’ll be napping soon. Good luck to you, again.”

Crowley wasn’t going to let things go quite that easily. He lowered his glasses just enough to let Zachariel see his eyes, hoping it would be appropriately intimidating. “Pardon me for not being quite so trusting as my friend here, but…I’m a demon. It’s not in my nature. Here’s the deal – you don’t bother us and we don’t bother you. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we’ve got an agreement with both sides to be left alone, and I’m not interested in changing that anytime soon. You do your thing, have your fun, find yourself. If you need help, I’m sure Aziraphale will do it because that’s _his_ nature. But if you lay a hand on him, his kid, or any of our friends, you _will_ be dealing with me and I’m sure you won’t like it.”

“Understood.” Zachariel offered a hand again, which Crowley still didn’t shake. “Truce?”

“Truce,” Crowley repeated, nodding, and that was as much as he was going to give the angel.

Back at their cottage, Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley. “You didn’t really have to threaten him.” He was smiling, though, so he couldn’t have been too upset about it.

“I didn’t threaten him,” Crowley pointed out. “I just made sure he was aware of what would happen if he doesn’t play nice.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley felt some of the pain he’d been trying his best to ignore fade. “He’s an angel; playing nice is part of the job description.”

“I only trust one angel, Aziraphale.” Despite his words, he gave Aziraphale a grateful smile. “It still feels suspicious to me.”

“It’s a bit unorthodox, but…if we stay out of each other’s ways, things should work out well enough.” Aziraphale moved to rummage through the cabinet for his favorite mug. “Now, did you want some cocoa?”

Aziraphale always asked despite the fact that Crowley always declined. “You know I don’t care for sweets, Angel.”

* * *

Humans had a saying, that children grew like weeds, and Crowley had never understood it until he had been Warlock’s nanny. Then, it made sense. They grew quickly, were incredibly persistent, and were always popping up in places they weren’t supposed to. Liam, despite his supernatural heritage, appeared to be doing the same. As he approached his first birthday, he wasn’t walking quite yet, but he was crawling like a pro (sometimes rolling instead, if he felt so inclined) and pulling himself up to stand on everything. While, fortunately, his random bouts of setting himself or objects in his vicinity on fire seemed to be getting under control, he’d also tapped in to something from Aziraphale’s side; his tantrums turned the air surrounding him positively frigid. Crowley sometimes amused himself by wondering what would happen if the kid managed to pull off both at the same time.

Zachariel kept mostly to himself, and Crowley worried less about him as time went on. Meanwhile, though Crowley wasn’t worried about her threat level – at least not to them – Lilith had most certainly not kept to herself. She maintained her primary residence in Tel Aviv, but she dropped into Tadfield regularly. And, apparently, pestering Crowley and Aziraphale had become one of her hobbies.

“I never got to play much as a kid,” she told Crowley, when he asked her _why_, exactly, she found toying with them so entertaining. “I had a doll once, but then she had to be executed for her crimes. My mothers were pretty serious about keeping up with my training.”

Crowley nodded. That didn’t surprise him. “Who _were_ your mothers, anyway? Anyone I know?”

“Hathor and Demeter,” Lilith said.

Aziraphale had been distracted with trying to explain to Liam that his lunch belonged in his mouth and not on the floor, but he turned suddenly, his eyes wide. “Like the goddesses?”

Crowley laughed. He didn’t know the two demons, but he’d certainly known _of_ them. “Ah, that figures. Those two were always wild. If there was ever an orgy in old Rome, they were probably at the center of it. And, yeah, they got a couple of human deities named after themselves.“

Aziraphale wiped the smeared sweet potatoes from his cheek, offering them back to Liam, who apparently decided they were worth eating if they were on Aziraphale’s finger and not a spoon. “Wasn’t Hathor the Egyptian goddess of sexuality and music?”

“Among other things,” Lilith confirmed.

“Sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” Crowley murmured approvingly. “Sounds right up a demon’s lane, if you ask me.”

“And Demeter…fertility goddess.” Aziraphale put the pieces together, rolling his eyes. “Didn’t her daughter marry the god of the Underworld?”

Lilith nodded. “She did indeed. My middle name is Persephone, actually. Demeter thought it would be hilarious. Guess she didn’t plan on her boss screwing me over down the road.”

Crowley would never understand _why_ anyone didn’t plan on Lucifer screwing them over; it was basically one of his hallmarks. “Hades would have _never_.”

“Tell me about it, Crowley-kins.” That was another way in which Lilith had taken to messing with them both – disgustingly sweet nicknames she didn’t mean a word of. The only one she truly loved, as far as Crowley had been able to tell, was her son. He could appreciate that, at least, and it was certainly more love than a lot of demons possessed the capacity for. She was also outrageously flirty, and she focused most of it on Crowley when she was around him. The only thing that kept that from being awkward was Crowley’s confidence that she had no intention of following through. And maybe he liked the way it got a rise out of Aziraphale, while the angel tried to pretend he wasn’t bothered. “Anyhow, I’ve got to go. I’m having lunch with Adam.” She waved cheerfully at Aziraphale and Liam, but then took a long, lingering moment to brush against Crowley’s hip. “See ya around.”

Aziraphale returned the wave, but he made a face as soon as Lilith was out the door. “Really? I like her, but must she be so shameless?”

Crowley grinned. This was the part he liked. “What, got your feathers ruffled because she keeps sampling the goods?”

Aziraphale groaned, releasing Liam from the high chair and miracling him clean before he could get sweet potatoes on every inch of the kitchen floor. “Honestly, Crowley. It’s just so uncouth.”

“Uncouth, hmm?” Crowley couldn’t resist teasing him. “This isn’t the Victorian era, Angel. Maybe I like it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t considered that, and he looked taken aback. “Well…if you wished to take a lover…it’s not as if I’d have room to object. Heaven knows you deserve the chance for happiness.”

Crowley frowned. That hadn’t gone at all how he’d expected. “Aw, you’re taking all the fun out of it. I’m just messing with you. I’m not looking for a lover. Too much work, too many emotional investments.”

Aziraphale nodded. “All right, then. But…I wouldn’t want to hold you back from anything your heart desired.”

“What my heart desires is this.” Crowley was mostly trying to reassure Aziraphale, but it wasn’t a lie. “This place, these lives, even with the lil’ bastard -”

“Crowley!”

Crowley didn’t acknowledge the admonishment; it was part of the game. Part of making his point. “The point is, I’ve gotten used to having an angelic security blanket. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

Aziraphale softened, giving Crowley that rare but absolutely heart-melting smile usually reserved for quiet moments between them. “Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

“Good.” The whole interaction was getting to be a bit touchy-feely for Crowley’s taste, but if it made Aziraphale feel more secure, it was worth it. He glanced down the hall, noticing that Liam was a little too focused on Delilah, one of the houseplants Crowley had kept long enough that he’d bothered to name. “Now, you’d better go grab the kid before he eats Delilah.”

* * *


	11. The Night Comes Down

* * *

The Almighty had decided upon a policy of non-interference long ago, telling Herself it was for the best. Sometimes Her emotions got the best of Her and She made rash decisions. Not to mention, too much intervention clashed with free will, and that was Her highest priority for all Her creations. In the end, though, She was a mother, and couldn’t always bring Herself to stay out of it entirely. Like most mothers, She loved Her children dearly, but also wanted to strangle them on occasion. And, though She shouldn’t have had a soft spot for any of them over the other, She did. As long as She didn’t treat them any differently because of it, what did it hurt?

When heartfelt pleas reached Her ears, She granted or denied them as She saw fit, in accordance with Her plan. It wasn’t always fair, but it was necessary. She had the Metatron handle most of the daily business, the praises and the blessings that She always granted in certain circumstances. She _heard_ all prayers, but She didn’t always respond directly. Keeping Her distance allowed Her to maintain neutrality – but She was God; She made the rules of Her ineffable game and all others. So, occasionally, She would indulge Herself and throw a wrench into the works, just to see what they’d do with it. After all, as the humans were so fond of saying, God works in mysterious ways…and She did enjoy maintaining a certain aura of mystery.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Tadfield, just as Crowley thought he’d adjusted to having a _baby_ in the house, Liam had grown into a toddler. Crowley had always been a bit fascinated with toddlers – at least in theory. Mostly, he was intrigued by these small humans that were still pure, still protected from evil by their basic _innocence…_and, yet, they were tiny agents of chaos and destruction.

Thus far, Crowley hadn’t been able to distinguish the “terrible twos” from the last few months _before_ Liam had turned two. Sure, the kid was able to talk more – making his desires and dislikes _quite_ clear – but he also moved faster and had absolutely no sense of danger. From what their human friends said, though, that sort of thing was normal. At least _something_ was normal about him.

Crowley had been awake for a few minutes, debating whether it was worth getting up or if he should try for a few more hours of sleep, when he felt a tiny hand patting his cheek repeatedly. He cracked his eyes open, finding an identical pair peering back at him over the edge of the mattress. “Can I help you, kid?”

“Cawwy.” Liam hadn’t quite managed his name yet, but it was close enough. He held up his Winnie-the-Pooh bear up so Crowley could see it. “Bear-Bear.”

Crowley groaned, sitting up. “Yes, lovely bear you’ve got there. Thanks for waking me up to see it.”

“Bear-Bear,” Liam repeated, a little more insistently this time. He toddled toward the bedroom door, then looked back to see if Crowley was following him. “Cawwy!”

So this was what they were doing that morning, this bizarre game of charades, with minimal clues. Liam’s absolute favorite thing in the world (beyond Aziraphale, but Crowley could relate) was Winnie-the-Pooh and anything associated with that ridiculous bear. They had Newt to thank for that one, including the name Bear-Bear. “Fine, I’m coming.” He followed the little boy into the nursery, wondering where Aziraphale was, and dutifully started the first Pooh-related video he found. Liam, now satisfied, plopped himself on the floor with his bear, while Crowley began looking around the cottage for Aziraphale.

As it turned out, Aziraphale had only been outside, talking with a delivery man. When he came in, carrying a rather large box, he looked puzzled but intrigued. “Did you order anything?”

“Me? No, not recently.” Crowley took the box from Aziraphale, finding that it wasn’t heavy, and set it on the coffee table. “They don’t typically make deliveries this early on a Sunday, either.”

“Yes, I thought that was strange, too.” Aziraphale glanced back toward the door briefly, as the International Express truck pulled out of their driveway. “And it was that same lovely man from before, after the airfield. Lesley, I believe his name was.”

“Well, maybe that part’s not too strange.” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe they don’t have a lot of drivers out this way.” He examined the box, trying to decide if this felt like a set-up or not. There was no name on the box, only their address – and nothing else. “There’s no return address. Are you sure it’s safe?”

Aziraphale frowned, focusing on the box. “I don’t _feel_ anything evil.”

“It doesn’t have to be evil to be dangerous,” Crowley pointed out. 

Aziraphale bit his lower lip briefly, glancing toward the door to Liam’s room. “Could I trouble you to throw up a quick ward, just in case? You’ve always been more skilled with them than I am.”

“I’ve had more practice.” It wasn’t the worst idea, honestly. Crowley turned and cast a ward on Liam’s door that would keep anything from passing through the doorway – demonic, angelic, or otherwise. “Come to think of it, could be a handy way to keep him in there, too. It should work both ways.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Don’t get carried away. It’s only temporary, until we’re sure it’s safe out here.” He opened the box, Crowley moving to stand beside him. Inside was a rectangular case, cream-colored and intricately decorated with swirls of gold. Definitely Aziraphale’s aesthetic. “It’s beautiful.” He searched the inside of the box. “Do you see any kind of note?”

“No.” If it was from one of their friends, Crowley would have thought the origin of the gift would be more obvious. “Maybe it’s in the case.” He was curious to see what was inside, though he tried to downplay it.

Aziraphale nodded, taking the case and opening it gingerly. He gasped, his eyes going wide with wonder as he saw it. “Oh, my.”

Crowley leaned in closer to see. “Damn, Aziraphale.” It was a sword and it was _beautiful_. The steel was the purest Crowley had ever seen, and the hilt and guard were adorned with sapphires. Diamonds sparkled on the scabbard, with more sapphires coming together to form a winged emblem. “You must _really_ have gotten on someone’s good side.”

“I can’t imagine who it’s from,” Aziraphale murmured. There was a note tucked inside the velvet-lined case, however, and he reached for it, reading it. “This sword can be held by anyone, but it will only flame for one meant to hold it.” He swallowed hard at the last line. “Try not to misplace this one, dearest; you may need it someday.”

Despite the ominous potential in the last bit, Crowley found himself a bit awed. “_She_ sent this?”

“Must have.” Aziraphale’s eyes were brimming with tears, but the smile on his face and the absolute _joy_ radiating from him kept Crowley from worrying. He looked back down at where he’d set the note, but it had disappeared already. “She called me ‘dearest.’”

Crowley pulled him into a quick side hug. “I told you.” He had his own issues regarding his relationship with the Almighty, but he knew one of Aziraphale’s biggest worries since they’d struck out on their own was that the archangels’ view of him might reflect God Herself’s. Crowley had been quick to assure him it was nonsense, and Her infuriating way of keeping quiet on most things didn’t help. “Yeshua worried about the same thing, when I spoke to him…and as much as I might have disagreed about the necessity of that crucifixion business, I don’t think anyone could argue about him being in Her good graces.” Somehow, this had transformed into a real hug, with Aziraphale clinging on to him, silent tears streaking down his face, but under the circumstances, Crowley couldn’t even manage a teasing protest. He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder in support. “It’s okay, Angel; I’ve got you.”

The tender moment was interrupted by a tiny voice from down the hall. “Abba! Cawwy! Stuck!”

Aziraphale looked up with a surprised laugh. “You should probably undo that ward now.”

“Yeah, all right.” At least they knew it would work on Liam if they ever _really_ needed to keep him somewhere. He dismissed the ward with a flick of his wrist and Liam immediately came running out to join the hug, wrapping his little arms around both Aziraphale’s legs and Crowley’s. Had he been honest with himself, Crowley might have been a little envious of Her reaching out to Aziraphale like that when he knew it was something he could never have. The physical pain of the Fall had been nothing compared to that sudden, awful sensation of having Her presence ripped away. But, bathed in the feeling of the love and joy that radiated from Aziraphale – and the way Liam adored him despite all Crowley’s attempts to keep the kid from seeing him as a role model – Crowley couldn’t be too upset. All he knew was, neither Heaven or Hell would be able to protect anyone who tried to take _this_ from him.

* * *

That night, after Liam had been tucked into bed, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves sitting on the couch, sharing a bottle of wine. This was hardly unusual for them, but given the events of the day, their conversation had ventured into topics they normally avoided. Emotional landmines, as it were.

They’d been discussing Eden, before Eve ate the apple, and somehow that had lent itself to Aziraphale talking about his limited memories of Heaven, before the Fall. Aziraphale stared into his glass as if it were going to reveal some indescribable secret to him. Crowley allowed it for about thirty seconds before he felt the need to nudge him. “Come on, Angel – what is it? You want to know more about what I remember, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded, slowly. “I don’t mean to pry. I know how painful those memories must be for you, and I certainly don’t want you to feel obliged to reopen old wounds on my behalf. It’s just…when I do sleep, I have dreams – flashes of memory, here and there. Angels I don’t recall meeting and I have no idea if they’re Fallen or they perished in the Rebellion. And Heaven knows I don’t expect you to help me identify them; most of them don’t mean much to me. But…there’s one I keep coming back to. I can never see his face.”

Crowley released a breath. They’d skirted around this before, but he was finally beginning to realize why it meant so much to Aziraphale. “You wonder if it might have been me.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Did we meet at all, before Eden?”

“Pretty sure we didn’t.” Crowley could at least give him that much. “I feel like I would have remembered you. And I was focused on the cosmos…honestly, I didn’t spend much time around angels who were being prepped for Earth.” He hoped that didn’t come off sounding dismissive; there had been millions of angels and neither of them could have met everyone. He sighed. Talking about it made him realize how many of those wounds _hadn’t_ healed, only subsided enough that he could ignore them in his day-to-day existence. It was rare, for a demon. Most of them had soundly rejected their former lives – and not out of pain, but defiance. Most of them were proud of who they were. And most of the time, it didn’t bother Crowley; it was just a job. One he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time to get. But there were days… 

Aziraphale reached out to squeeze his hand. “That does make me feel slightly better. After all we’ve been through, I’d hate to think I knew you once and then forgot.”

“No worries there.” Crowley returned the squeeze before pulling his hand away so that he could pour another glass of wine. He was going to need it, if he kept talking about this. “I was a seraphim, though you might have already figured that out by now.”

“I’d suspected, with the serpent form,” Aziraphale said quietly, “but thank you for trusting me.”

Crowley gave him a crooked smile. “If you’re going to thank me every time I tell you something tonight, it could become a very long conversation.” He tilted the wine bottle to refill Aziraphale’s glass as well. “It might be easier if you asked me what you wanted to know.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Is anything off-limits?”

As much as he was sure it was one of the things Aziraphale _wanted_ to know, he had to set his boundaries. Alcohol could only numb Crowley so much. “My name. Before. I…” He bit his lip, shaking his head. “I know it shouldn’t mean so much. Not after all this time. Not after who I’ve become. I _like_ my name now. I made it my own. And it’s not that I don’t want you to know who I was once, but…as stupid as it is, I’m afraid I’ll crack if I have to say it out loud. And you do _not_ want to see me turn into a soppy mess. It isn’t pretty.”

Aziraphale put a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s not stupid. You have every right to keep that close to your heart. Though…for the record, you’ve seen me a soppy mess enough times that I’m not afraid to return the favor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Crowley’s façade was so practiced that he needed very little effort to snap it back into place. “Other than that, though, ask away.”

“All right.” Aziraphale sighed deeply. “Your wings. They…well…I mean, I’ve thought they must not always have been black…”

Crowley figured out what Aziraphale was getting at pretty quickly and why he had a hard time asking. It was a common rumor among angels, he’d discovered over the years. “They didn’t burn to that color, no. Started fading quickly, though, almost like they’d been dyed.” He remembered watching the black creep across his formerly brilliantly white wings, almost finding it mesmerizing in the stupor he’d been in at the time. “I don’t know anyone down there who still has theirs, though, ‘cept Lucifer. Might be some that I just haven’t met. Most demons…the feathers started shedding first, then they lost them as time went by. I don’t actually know why. Might have something to do with how much they cared, how attached they were.” He _liked_ his wings.

Aziraphale gasped, smiling at Crowley tenderly. “I wonder if it’s true…”

“What’s that?” Crowley didn’t understand how inexplicably happy that detail made Aziraphale – but it was warring with sympathy and sadness behind his eyes. “Another angelic rumor?”

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hands again. “They say demons begin to lose their wings as soon as they lose the last of their faith.”

It was a sound enough explanation, though it made Crowley uncomfortable to admit how much faith he still had. “Maybe that’s it, then. Ironic, hmm?”

Aziraphale took a long sip from his glass. “Actually, I think it’s perfectly apt. Standing there together, at the end of the world…an angel whose faith was shaken and a demon who never lost his.”

There _was_ a certain poetry to it, but that was dangerously close to feelings Crowley wasn’t ready to stir up. At least not tonight. “You’ve got to stop reading all those old books, Angel. You’re starting to sound like something out of one of them.”

Aziraphale grinned at him. “I choose to take that as a compliment.”

* * *

_London_

It had been a week since that deep, late-night conversation, and per usual, once the wine was gone, they had let the matter rest. Aziraphale had decided to open the bookshop for a few hours – mostly because he’d been missing it lately – and Crowley took advantage of the opportunity to visit some of his old haunts. He was buying superglue at a corner store, intending to put a few coins on the sidewalk outside the bookshop and then sit back and watch. It never got old, and Aziraphale’s fussing at him over it was half the fun.

Crowley had just selected the industrial-strength variety and was heading for the queue when a feeling of sheer dread washed over him. He dropped the glue, running out the door to the Bentley. “You know what to do, go!” The Bentley knew the way to the bookshop intimately from anywhere in London.

The Bentley, as usual, obeyed and Crowley floored the gas pedal, knowing he needed to get to Aziraphale immediately. Something was very, very wrong. It was the same feeling he got when Aziraphale was in trouble, the same connection that brought him running every time, but this was even more intense. Was it that they’d gotten even closer since the last time Crowley had come to his angel’s rescue? He hoped that was all it was. But the _sword_…and that _warning_…

With “Don’t Stop Me Now” blasting from the radio, Crowley made it to the bookshop in record time. He told himself it was only traumatic memories that left him relieved to see no flames, no firemen. In fact, everything on the street outside looked like any other Monday evening in Soho. That didn’t stop Crowley from flinging himself out of the car and racing into the bookshop like a man possessed. 

“Aziraphale?” The shop was quiet and nothing was out of place. There was still a very dark and foreboding feeling, though, so Crowley pressed on. He wished the sword wasn’t back in Tadfield, though Aziraphale was probably the only one who could summon it at this distance. “Angel, come on, where are you?” There were absolutely no candles burning, but the scent memory of burning books lingered.

A soft groan, so quiet that Crowley would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening, drew Crowley’s attention. He rushed toward it, gasping as he saw Aziraphale. “Nonononono…shit, shit, shit, _fuck_!” The cursing didn’t help relieve his tension, but he didn’t know what else to do as he fell to his knees beside Aziraphale. The angel was unconscious, an alarming amount of blood pooled on the floor beneath his head. “Angel, come on, wake up! Who did this to you?” He was too late, again. If Aziraphale discorporated, there was no way he’d be back within the next decade, if those wankers even gave him another body at all. As gingerly as he could, Crowley turned Aziraphale’s head to examine the wound, and his heart sank further at what he saw. There was no way any human could have managed this level of damage – and if Aziraphale had been entirely human, he’d probably have been killed instantly. Beneath the blood-matted hair, Crowley probed tenderly, feeling the shattered skull. But the worst part was underneath the red, human blood…the traces of gold that stuck to Crowley’s fingertips, burning him mildly. Angel blood. The only way this could be visible was if the blow had damaged Aziraphale himself. His _actual form_ was damaged, and this was far worse than potential discorporation. “No, no, no…thisss isn’t happening; this can’t be happening! Aziraphale, damn you, wake up!” There was nothing in the immediate vicinity that had blood on it, nothing that seemed to have been used in the attack. “Aziraphale! Don’t you dare leave me!”

Crowley could heal himself; it was a basic survival skill for demons. However, to heal another, one had to _care_, and so that wasn’t in a demon’s power set. It was assumed it would never be used. And even though he did care – too much, sometimes – Crowley had never been able to heal someone else, besides a few scrapes and bruises. Always on Aziraphale. He hadn’t practiced on anyone else, since Aziraphale always handled Warlock’s bumps and bruises, and now Liam’s. But…Aziraphale _could_ heal, and quite effectively. He was too badly hurt to heal himself, but… 

It was a risk. Crowley could use their connection and link their minds. If they were linked, maybe he could use Aziraphale’s healing energy. But he’d have to do it without permission and he hated that. Under the circumstances, though, he hoped Aziraphale would understand. “Forgive me, Angel. End justifies the means and all that.” He took Aziraphale’s hand, closing his eyes and reached out…and hit a metaphorical brick wall. “Oh, come on!” He hadn’t considered the possibility that he wouldn’t be able to connect at all, with Aziraphale as deeply unconscious as he was.

Crowley took off his jacket, using it to try to slow the flow of blood. “Hang in there. We’ll get through this, somehow. Maybe Witch Girl can help, or, hell, Lilith…” They wouldn’t have healing powers, either, but maybe they could somehow let Crowley connect. “Or maybe I’ll find that angel down the street…force him to help, yeah, that’s it. Hang _on_, Aziraphale, just let me call someone to – _you_!” He’d been fumbling for his cell phone when he saw the hooded figure in the corner, dark wings folded behind him. “You get out of here right now. Leave him alone.” His voice was low, a demonic warning that would leave most trembling.

Death was not the least bit intimidated. “I DON’T MAKE THESE CALLS. MY JOB IS JUST TO BE HERE.”

“No!” Crowley’s hand reached for a weapon he didn’t have. “Don’t even _think_ about it, Azrael.”

The use of Death’s name didn’t shake him either. “YOU KNOW MY NAME. I KNOW YOURS. IT DOESN’T CHANGE WHAT’S TO BE.”

“No.” Crowley shook his head firmly. He’d been there when Aziraphale was discorporated before and Death hadn’t. _He’d_ been discorporated and Death had never been there. Crowley knew what this meant and he refused to accept it. If his imagination could keep a flaming Bentley together, it could keep Aziraphale alive. “Fuck you, fuck fate, fuck _everything_! You can’t have him! Come on, Aziraphale! Fight thisss! You show the bastard!” He glared at Death again, defiant despite the tears that were running down his cheeks. “You. Can’t. Have. Him.”

“THAT ISN’T UP TO ME. EVERYONE TRIES TO BARGAIN WITH ME WHEN THEY SHOULD BE APPEALING TO A HIGHER AUTHORITY.”

Crowley dropped his head, looking down at Aziraphale’s chest. He wasn’t breathing. That alone wasn’t concerning; it wasn’t strictly necessary unless their human bodies were struggling and needed the boost. It just became a habit, part of blending in. But the weight of the situation crashed down on him as he looked at Aziraphale’s face, too pale, and the tiny little gasps that tried to be breaths but didn’t manage it. The blood…so much blood. He pulled his glasses off to wipe at his eyes, breaking them unintentionally as his fist clenched. “Don’t take him,” he whispered, no longer addressing Death. “You know how much he means to me. You gave him that sssword! You gave him hope! Why would you do that if you were just going to let him die? _Why_?”

But there was no answer. There hadn’t been for over 6,000 years. 

The blood was slowing, though not due to Crowley’s efforts, and the gasps were getting further and further between. Crowley could _feel_ Aziraphale’s essence fading away. Death had taken a seat in Aziraphale’s desk chair, watching impassively, waiting for his moment. But where would he even take Aziraphale? Was it just his job to be there? True angelic death was forever and this method was only vaguely kinder than hellfire. Crowley screamed with rage and pain, shaking Aziraphale’s shoulders desperately. As he collapsed forward, his hands catching himself on the floor, he saw the rug. The one that covered the prayer circle. A sense of determination settled over him, born from sheer desperation. He’d seen Aziraphale set it up before. He rose, heading toward the circle and casting the rug aside. He only needed the candles and something to light them with. He knew where the candles were kept…and, well, he could certainly light them. He glanced back at Death, who was now casually reading Aziraphale’s copy of Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’ _On Death and Dying_ while he waited. “Appeal to a higher authority, eh? Looks like I just found Her mobile number.”

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger (only a little sorry, but still sorry)...I promise, I'll have the next chapter up soon! It's already been started...


	12. Keep Yourself Alive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my lovelies and thank you as always. <3 This chapter is a bit short because of pacing, but also because I didn't want to leave the cliffhanger dangling for too long. (Just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing?) Enjoy!

* * *

There’s a saying among humans that the best way to make God laugh is to make plans. This is incorrect. The best way to make God laugh is to suggest combining a duck and a beaver into a new creature entirely, then let Adam try to figure out what to name it. That was the brainchild of an angel named Ilana, and the Almighty has not laughed quite as hard in the 6,000 years since. Frankly, plans don’t even come in as a close second. She already knows about those.

Omnipotence and free will have a hard time coexisting, but She has managed it, as She does all things. There are always choices. She has the map, but each individual steers their own ship. Like those delightful books in which humans can choose their own adventures, God knows what all the choices and outcomes are, but it’s up to each being to select a page and turn. She might know if they’ll end up on page sixty-seven or eighty-two, but not until they moment they choose. (She could absolutely know, if She looked ahead, but She generally tries not to. Omnipotence gets boring after a few millennia; she likes the occasional surprise.)

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale had chosen their current dilemma, certainly, but there were still choices to be made. Crowley could decide that the risks of opening a direct line to Heaven weren’t worth it. Crowley could give in to his grief and despair and do nothing, accept Fate as he saw it and let it overwhelm him. Or, he could open the portal and demand to be heard. It was all up in the air until the moment he chose, a sort of Schrodinger’s demon. Crowley’s choice would start the next series of events into motion. If She didn’t care for his choice, God had the power to intervene, but She wouldn’t. There were a lot of things that wouldn’t have happened if She were willing to override free will.

God heard all earnest prayers, no matter _who_ prayed, but She didn’t always respond directly. There had to be a certain distance between Heaven and Earth, just as there had to be the same distance between Earth and Hell. Even when She granted requests, sometimes it was in a roundabout way because the ineffable nature of the universe required a domino effect to get the job done. Though prayer circles were rare these days, the Metatron generally handled those calls while She listened in. She’d found his aura suited the expectation many humans had of God better, and there was only one prayer circle left that belonged to anyone but a human. As the candles of that one were lit by the shaking hand of a demon, She smiled and rose, putting Her hand on the Metatron’s shoulder as he warily prepared to answer. “I’ll take this one.”

* * *

Crowley was kneeling at the edge of the prayer circle, not out of strict reverence, but mostly because his legs were too shaky for him to stand. Should he put his hands together? Aziraphale always did when he addressed Heaven (though even he’d admitted it wasn’t strictly necessary, just a habit), and Crowley found himself copying the motions. “God? It’s me, Crowley. Crawly. Whatever. You know who I am. The seraphim who hung out with the wrong crowd and asked too many questions.” He sighed, feeling like he was leaving a rambling voicemail – and, in a sense, maybe he was. He doubted whoever was in charge of answering this thing would deign to respond, but he would at least be _heard_. Crowley couldn’t let Aziraphale go without a fight; he had to be heard. 

To Crowley’s surprise, the circle lit up, and he scooted back a bit more. For all he knew, someone might come through and smite him, a demon daring to address the holiest of holies this way. “Hello, Anthony.” The voice was warm and soft, not at all mocking. And it was _Her._

Crowley gasped, his eyes going wide. His fingers curled tighter around what was left of his sunglasses, breaking them further. “Ngk.” For a moment, he was genuinely speechless, as rare as that was for him. But then he glanced back at Aziraphale – and Death, who had finished the Kubler-Ross book and was rummaging through another pile as if this weren’t going on a few meters away – and he found his voice. “Um, hi. Listen…the thing is…I fucked up. I fell for Lucifer’s silver tongue and, believe me, I have paid for it. But, Aziraphale, all he’s ever done is try to please You. All he’s _ever_ done is love You, and even when those twat archangels treated him like shit because he didn’t fit their model of what an angel should be, his biggest concern was that he failed _You_ somehow. If You don’t save him for my sake, do it for _him_.”

“For your sake?” There was no mocking in Her tone and he was a little surprised by that. He’d expected mocking – his very existence felt like a mockery sometimes – but Crowley would put up with anything, make any bargain, if Aziraphale lived. 

“Yeah, I’m a selfish bastard.” Had Aziraphale been conscious, he might have urged Crowley to watch his language when addressing the Almighty, but Crowley figured She’d prefer he come to Her as he was. “Comes with the territory, this life.” Demons who weren’t selfish didn’t survive. “But, really, do You _want _to leave humanity in my hands? Have You seen what I’m like unsupervised? Sure, the Spanish Inquisition, that was humans, but the Venus de Milo’s arms? That was my fault! I can do worse.” If Aziraphale died, he _would_ do worse. Much worse. His voice cracked. “I’m begging You, don’t take him from me. He’s the only bit of restraint I have. He’s…he’s my best friend. I love him.” He laughed bitterly, despite the tears that were falling freely. “Demons aren’t supposed to love anything, are we? Platonically or not. But I do and…I need him.” And he wasn’t the only one. “And the kid! I can barely take care of myself, some days. You can’t do that to Liam. Aziraphale’s his world, too.” He couldn’t bear the thought of going home and having to tell Liam that Aziraphale wasn’t coming back. He swiped at his eyes, not even taking a moment to think, to censor himself as he poured his heart out. Any moment, She might cut the connection. “Don’t take him, please. You loved me once. And maybe I have no right to ask for anything from You, but…the world needs him and his faith in it and his stupid bowties. If it’s a life for a life, you can have mine. Not like I’d care, if he’s gone.”

One of the Bibles that was lying on the floor nearby – Crowley hadn’t noticed it before – suddenly flipped open. The flickering shadow of one of the candles briefly highlighted John 15:13. “Why are You telling me this? I knew Yeshua – oh.” The exact words struck him, and it strengthened his resolve. “Good. Fine, then. A life for a life. Let’s do this.”

After the longest few seconds of Crowley’s entire existence, She responded. “Oh, my dear Anguis. I’m not asking for your life.”

Once again, She’d rendered him speechless. He’d already been crying, much as he _hated_ crying, but when She called him _that_, used the name he hadn’t heard in so long, couldn’t even think of without his heart clenching a little, he wept. After taking a minute to get a hold of himself, he finally murmured, “I haven’t heard that name in a very long time.”

“Really? Quoting Obi-Wan Kenobi at a time like this?” 

It took him a moment to recognize the gentle tease, the chance to let him save face. It took him another moment to realize he’d even been quoting anything. “I am what I am.”

“Yes, you are.” Her tone was affectionate, motherly. Crowley could have sworn he felt a hand on his face, touching his cheek, but the sensation was gone as quickly as it came. “You’re right. You and Aziraphale are two sides of the same coin, keeping the balance in each other’s lives. You’re needed where you are. Just as you were needed to stand with Adam, at the airfield. Two opposing forces, uniting for a common cause.”

Crowley gasped. Reading between the lines could be dangerous – especially with God – but was She saying that he’d _had_ to be a demon for the sake of the Plan? “Is that it, then? Is that why I Fell? Not the questions, not Lucifer, but for…?” For what? To stop the Apocalypse? To balance Aziraphale? 

“Some things in My Plan pain me, as necessary as they are,” She admitted, and Crowley was amazed She’d allowed him to be privy to that insight. “You made your choices, but there was a point when you could have turned back. I sense that you know it as well as I do. And…I couldn’t let you. Just as I had to allow My son to sacrifice himself for the sake of humanity.”

“Yeah, I’d wondered what that was all about.” Crowley nodded. “So…Aziraphale, he’ll live?” He glanced back to the desk, where Death had been sitting, and saw the empty chair. Hesitantly, afraid his hope would be ripped away, he looked at Aziraphale. The color had returned to the angel’s face and he was breathing evenly. Crowley nearly choked on his sobs of relief. “Thank you.” She’d given Aziraphale a gift, with the sword, and as far as Crowley was concerned, this was his. 

“You’re welcome. Now, go. You’re needed elsewhere.” The circle flickered, the connection cut. Crowley carefully blew out each candle, not willing to risk another fire, then moved to Aziraphale. “You’re awake!”

“Yes…” Aziraphale winced, touching his head. The wound was freshly healed, but it still looked tender. “Barely.” He tried to scramble to his feet, but he wasn’t strong enough to stand yet. Crowley helped ease him back to the floor. “The demon! Where is he?”

“Right here?” It might not have been a good time for jokes, but that had never stopped Crowley before.

“Not you.” Aziraphale tried to use Crowley as leverage to get up again. Crowley pushed him back down firmly but gently. “There was a demon, he walked in and attacked me, said he – Liam! We’ve got to get to him!”

“He’s at home,” Crowley assured him, though God’s final words were heavy on his mind. _You’re needed elsewhere._ “He’s fine.” He wanted to believe that. There was no way a random demon – at least one random enough that Aziraphale didn’t recognize him – would know where they lived. Unless he had been sent by someone else… “Now just tell me who that demon was so I can end him. Hell knows the rules, and if he wasn’t acting on his own, I’ll destroy the lot of them.”

“I don’t know him,” Aziraphale said, “but he –” His eyes widened as he saw the candles around the circle. “Crowley…did you _use_ that?”

Crowley shook his head. “Not much choice.” They could unpack it all later, but he had just regained his emotional stability. “Death was here, he wanted you, and he said I had to appeal to a higher authority. So I did.”

“Oh, _Crowley._” Before Crowley could react, Aziraphale was hugging him so tightly that Crowley’s arms were pinned to his sides. He just let it happen, grateful that it at least could. As he pulled back, he frowned. “Death was here…for _me_?”

Crowley nodded. “You were in a pretty bad way. Angel blood and all.” He wiggled his fingertips. “Has a bit of a sting to it.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale grabbed his hand and miracled the burns away, even as minor as they were, before Crowley could protest. “We can’t waste time. He was angry because Liam wasn’t here, but if he’s in league with anyone else and he finds him…”

“You can barely stand.” Crowley shook his head. “I’ll go. You stay here and rest. I’ll ward the door and get the kid.”

“No.” Aziraphale pulled himself up. “I’m healing, and even with the way you drive, it’ll take time.” They could have materialized there, but even he seemed to realize it would be too much for him right now. “I’m not allowing my son to be in harm’s way without me.”

“Fine.” Crowley knew there was no winning this argument. He helped Aziraphale to the car, at least knowing he wouldn’t get any complaints about his speed on the way back to Tadfield. The Bentley roared to life, Freddie’s silky voice blaring from the speakers as usual. They’d been granted a second chance, and as soon as they were sure Liam was safe, Crowley had some hunting to do.

* * *


	13. Hammer to Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience; this chapter took a couple days longer than I'd planned because of that pesky "real life" business. I hope you enjoy it as much as I've been enjoying writing this tale. Thanks to all of you who have commented, bookmarked, and/or left kudos. Your support is so appreciated. <3

* * *

Anathema had never been the most fanatical of housekeepers; if the place was presentable, she was satisfied. But, after seven years of living in Jasmine Cottage, a little spring cleaning had become necessary. She’d read recently that mattresses should be flipped regularly, too, in order to even out the wear and tear. It honestly hadn’t occurred to her that this was a thing; she’d been privileged enough growing up that her family hired housekeepers and they must have taken care of all that. Or maybe they’d just had the fancy mattresses that didn’t require it. Either way, she figured it was worth a try. As much as she liked the sweet spots she and Newt had found, where their bodies fit in all the right grooves, she could see how that sort of thing could wear down a mattress over time.

Flipping the mattress was no small feat, but she nodded with a sense of accomplishment after finishing it – and bent down to pick up the notecard that had fluttered to her feet. It must have been caught under the mattress, and she recognized it instantly. One of the notecards from Agnes’ first book, forgotten in the giddy aftermath of saving the world. Anathema had never checked to be sure she had found them all; it hadn’t seemed critical, given that the prophecies ended at Doomsday. Curious, Anathema read it.

_Prophecy 2983: Beware, mine Anathema, for if thou fail to reclaim the Beast, then the End shall join, and the youngest archangel shall marshal the heavens. His name shall be Zachariel, and he shall be ruthless and fierce._

Anathema gasped. She’d always assumed “He is not what he says he is” was about Newt – and maybe it still was. Maybe everything after The End had truly been in the book she’d burned. Overall, Anathema didn’t regret it; she had come to enjoy the life that followed being a professional descendant and living her life by Agnes’ words. But there were times like these that she wished she’d at least taken a look. She bolted out of the bedroom to grab her phone off its charger in the kitchen. Whether it was a touch of Agnes’ gift or not, something told her she had to update her friends about this _now_.

* * *

By all rights, there was no way a 1933 Bentley should have been able to hit 110 miles per hour at all, much less sustain that speed for any length of time. Crowley’s Bentley, of course, knew no such restrictions. It was as far as he dared push his beloved car, but it still felt too slow. They had to get home, had to be sure Liam was safe – and Tracey, as well, since she’d been watching him. Tracey wasn’t answering her phone, and Crowley could only hope that the reason why was she had her hands full with the kid.

When Crowley’s phone began to ring, he jumped and nudged it toward Aziraphale. As much as he tended to multitask while driving, at this speed, he really did need to keep his eyes mostly on the road. “Hopefully that’s her calling back. Who is it?”

“How should I know?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley wasn’t sure whether to blame that on the blow to the head he’d taken or his strange avoidance of modern technology. One of these days, he was going to have to convince Aziraphale to get a mobile phone and teach him to use it.

“Just look at the screen!”

“Oh.” Aziraphale took the phone. “It’s Anathema.”

Unexpected, but Crowley had a feeling he should take the call. “Push the little green button. It’ll go to the hands-free system.” As Aziraphale picked up, Crowley decided to head off any potential niceties. “Not that it isn’t just _lovely_ to hear from you, Witch Girl, but we’re having a bit of a crisis, so make it fast.”

Anathema didn’t seem fazed. “So you know about Zachariel, then?”

“That he’s an angel? Way ahead of you there. It was kind of obvious.”

“Not just any angel,” Anathema said. “He’s an _archangel_. The youngest. I found an old prophecy that mentioned him. Didn’t you say that Gabriel had a –”

As much as Crowley generally tried _not_ to remember their encounters with Gabriel, he knew exactly what she was referring to. “Yeah, he said he and Michael – oh, shit!” All the implications came together at once. He’d never trusted Zachariel, but he’d been willing to accept the cover story as long as the angel kept to himself. “I should have known he was a spy! Damn it!”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide and worried. “If he’s been watching us and reporting back…”

“I know, Angel, I know!” Crowley growled in frustration. “Thanks for the update. Call you soon.” He didn’t have the time for social formalities, snapping for his phone to call Tracey again as soon as the call disconnected. Again, she didn’t answer, and he was only growing more concerned. For all the times his imagination had saved him, this was not a good time to let it run wild.

When they arrived at the cottage, Crowley threw his door open as soon as he’d parked. He frowned at Aziraphale, who was getting up. “Not so fast. You’re in no shape to fight anyone right now, if there’s trouble. Stay in the car. I’ve got this.”

“But –”

“No buts! I’ve been in a lot more fights than you anyway.” Crowley couldn’t risk Aziraphale getting hurt again before he’d recovered his strength. He already looked better, but he definitely wasn’t at 100%. “I’ll be right back out – hopefully, with the kid.” 

The cottage was eerily quiet as Crowley walked in, and that alone made him nervous. It was never this quiet, except perhaps in the middle of the night. The door to Liam’s room was closed as well, which seemed odd. Unless Tracey had shut them in there and barricaded the door… Crowley wanted to hope that was the case, but he wasn’t enough of an optimist. He approached the door, his senses on high alert, and listened for any signs of life within. 

_“…a donkey named Eeyore is his friend, and Kanga, and little Roo…”_

Somehow, the familiar theme song didn’t comfort Crowley, not under these circumstances. Nor did the soft but persistent thumping noise he managed to discern beneath it. He frowned and shoved the door open, giving it a little extra push in case there _was_ a barricade.

There was no barricade, in fact, and Crowley stumbled into the room under the force of his own entrance. He looked around, his apprehension growing. While the rest of their home was untouched, there had clearly been a struggle in this room. The lamp was knocked over, its bulb broken, knickknacks were displaced from their shelves, and the bed linens appeared to have been thrown to the wind. Perhaps most alarmingly, Liam’s Pooh bear – the one he never went anywhere without – was lying on the floor, abandoned. And there was still that strange thumping noise coming from the closet.

Crowley moved to open the closet, tensing for a potential fight. As he touched the doorknob, however, he could feel the supernatural coolness emanating from it. A warning jolt shot up his arm and he snatched his hand away. “Shit!”

“Here, let me try.”

Crowley jumped at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice, whirling around to find the angel standing in the doorway. “I thought I told you to stay in the car!”

Aziraphale merely raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought you knew me well enough to realize I wouldn’t.”

“Okay, you’ve got me there.” Crowley really should have known Aziraphale wouldn’t listen and planned accordingly. At least Aziraphale was able to stand under his own power now. “What’s up with the door, then?” The thumping had quieted, but the closet door wasn’t thick; anyone inside would have been able to hear them. The only question was if this was about to be a rescue or an ambush. While the fact that the door was locked would have suggested a rescue, Crowley wasn’t willing to discount the possibility that it was a setup. His paranoia had kept him alive this long, after all.

Aziraphale approached the closet, touching the knob experimentally. He didn’t have anywhere near the same reaction to it Crowley did, which pretty much confirmed that it was angelically placed. Crowley was already thinking of his many options for kicking the crap out of Gabriel. “This is no good. It’s an empyrean lock. It can only be undone by the angel who placed it.” Rather than seeming discouraged, however, he furrowed his brow, already on to a potential solution. “Can you try locking it demonically?”

Crowley blinked at him. “What, to be sure it’s covered from both ends? Aziraphale, that’s…” Suddenly, it clicked. “…bloody brilliant, you diabolical genius. You’re hoping they’ll cancel each other out.” Heavenly and hellish energies could react volatilely when combined in a tight space – such as a doorknob that lacked any sort of mechanical locking device. He smiled, focusing on the doorknob and placing his personal locking charm. Almost instantly, the doorknob began to throw off sparks. Then, with a flash of light, the doorknob fell off. “We can fix that later.” He stepped forward to open the door, but it flew open before he could and Tracey tumbled out of the closet, bound and gagged. Despite the seriousness of the situation, it struck Crowley as almost comical, like something out of a movie. They’d even used duct tape. He moved to her side at the same time Aziraphale did, the two of them managing to untie her quickly. 

Aziraphale moved his hands over her, instantly healing the abrasions the tape had caused. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Tracey insisted, squeezing his shoulder, “but there’s no time to lose. We’ve got to follow them; they’ve got Liam.”

“Yeah, figured that.” Crowley didn’t like that she’d been dragged into this, but it did help to have a witness who could provide them with some details. “Who’s they?”

“That young man from down the lane…clearly, not as nice as he seemed.” Tracey frowned in disdain, but quickly got back on track. “And there were two others with him, a taller gentleman in a suit, dark hair. And I could have sworn his eyes were violet.”

“Fucking Gabriel,” Crowley growled, watching Aziraphale’s expression darken at the same time. “Who was the other one?”

“Short, dark hair, very pale,” Tracey said. “Seemed like a lackey. They called him Jeff. The one in the suit – Gabriel? – was giving him orders.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale. It was a vague description, but enough to narrow things down. “Does that sound anything like the one who attacked you?”

“I’m fine, my dear lady,” Aziraphale assured Tracey as she gasped and looked at him in concern. “And…yes, it does. There’s no guarantee it’s the same demon, but…”

“…it wouldn’t be the first time Gabriel’s hired one to help keep his hands clean.” It was hardly the first time Crowley had ended up finishing Aziraphale’s sentences, either. “Jeff, the rent-a-demon.” Now he just had to figure out if Jeff had been acting alone, so he had a better idea for how many denizens of Hell he planned to take on. “Did they say where they were going?”

Tracey shook her head. “Not until they were on their way out. I didn’t quite catch it. Megara? Is that even a place?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Could it have been Megiddo?” 

Tracey nodded quickly. “Yes, I believe that’s it.”

Crowley groaned. “Of fucking _course_. Those bloody wankers and their _symbolism_. Get in the car, both of you. And, Angel, grab the sword.” He looked at Tracey. “I’m dropping you home, and then _you_ and I—” He picked Winnie-the-Pooh up from the floor, handing the bear to Aziraphale, who held onto it as if it were a lifeline, “—have some asses to kick.”

As they hurried to the car, Crowley’s thoughts were racing, anticipating possible complications, ways around them, and the many ways this could end badly. “For Hell’s sake…” Perhaps it was time to enlist someone who cared about Hell’s _actual_ sake as little as he did. He grabbed his phone, careful to control the strength of his grip – with as agitated as he was, he risked shattering it. “Call Lilith!”

* * *

_Tel Aviv, Israel_

Lilith wasn’t quite as attached to her Lamborghini as Crowley was to his Bentley, but she did love it and all its modern amenities – including the sound system, which always had the perfect music to suit her mood. Though she was particularly fond of David Bowie, she rarely stuck to one artist. At the moment Crowley called her, she was blasting Rona Kenan’s Zman Hatapuz album, and she scowled as she turned it down to answer. “Can I help you?”

“I’m sorry, am I _interrupting_ something?” 

Crowley sounded particularly edgy, even for him, and Lilith quickly decided to back down on teasing him. “No, it’s fine. What’s going on?”

“What’s going _on_ is Gabriel and his _crew_ decided to take matters into their own hands. You ever been to Megiddo?”

“I was born there.”

“Figures.” Before Lilith could ask Crowley what that meant, or why he was even asking about Megiddo, he continued. “I’m calling in a favor. The bastards have Liam, and that’s where we think they’re taking him. How soon can you get there?”

“About an hour. Less.” She would make it less. Not for the first time, she cursed the fact that being born on Earth, into a human body, kept her from manipulating space and time the way other supernatural creatures could. Otherwise, she’d have been there already. “I’m on my way. Already in the car.”

“Good. Thanks. I’ll call you if I hear anything.” 

The line disconnected and Lilith’s music came roaring back, having switched to Twisted Sister and “We’re Not Gonna Take It.” A little _too_ accurate, perhaps, but she was hardly complaining.

* * *

_Tadfield, England_

The plan was simple enough, Crowley thought, make sure Tracey was returned home safely and then decide how he and Aziraphale were getting to Megiddo. They’d meet Lilith there. And then…well, then, he didn’t know what, and that didn’t sit well with him. When they’d been rushing headlong into danger last time, trying to stop the end of the world, there had been prophecies to guide them. In theory, it would be three on three, but that assumed Gabriel, Zachariel, and Jeff were the only ones involved. 

“Jeff,” Crowley grumbled, not caring who he pissed off as he took on the streets of Tadfield at top speed. “What kind of demon calls himself _Jeff_?”

“Maybe it’s short for Jeffery,” Aziraphale suggested. “Like Jeffery Archer.”

Tracey leaned forward from the backseat – or maybe she was just hanging onto it for stability. “Boys, no offense, but is that really important?”

“There _is_ a lot in a name,” Aziraphale pointed out, “at least potentially.”

“Yeah, and who does this wanker think he is, the God of Biscuits?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale looked at him blankly, while Tracey snorted. “Have her explain it to you.” There wasn’t really time, though, as he was pulling up to Tracey and Shadwell’s cottage. Shadwell hurried out the front door as they arrived, quickly followed by Adam. Shadwell was wearing his Witchfinder uniform for some reason, but that was frankly the least concerning thing Crowley had seen all day.

“Well, ‘en.” Shadwell nodded, a determined look on his face. “Let’s nae be wastin’ time, lads.”

Crowley blinked at him. “And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“Wi ye, of course.” To his credit, Shadwell didn’t look the least bit worried – of course, he also had no idea of what he was getting himself into. He hugged Tracey tightly as she got out of the car, looking her over as if to be sure she was all right. “They mess wi’ my guidwife, they mess wi’ me.”

Tracey pressed against his side, kissing his cheek. “Oh, darling.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s very noble of you, Mr. Shadwell, but, really – it’s far more dangerous than you realize.”

“Than _you_ realize,” Adam interjected. 

Crowley shot him a dark look. “When did _you_ get so sassy?”

“No, I’m serious.” Adam stood his ground. His youthful cockiness had tempered into a suave but deserved confidence as he’d grown. “You have no idea what could be waiting for you.”

“Neither do you,” Crowley argued.

“Which is exactly why we need to stick together,” Adam insisted. “Strength in numbers, right? We didn’t know what we were doing the first go-round and look how well we managed then.”

Crowley still wasn’t convinced. “You and I must remember that very differently.”

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “As much as I hate to involve anyone else in this, he may be right. All of us had different roles to play back then. We don’t know who else might be involved on Gabriel’s end. Frankly, we can use all the help we can get.”

“Okay, fine,” Crowley agreed. He’d have to strategize a bit more – bringing Adam made transportation trickier – but Aziraphale and Adam had valid points. “The Antichrist can come. How’d you know what was going on, anyhow?”

Adam’s grin was playful. “I felt a disturbance in the Force.”

Crowley's hand went to his face. “What _is_ it with the Star Wars references today?”

Adam shrugged. “Okay, so it was my mum. Lilith, that is. She called.”

“Oh, right.” Crowley turned to Shadwell. “As for you, absolutely not. It’s nothing personal, but what are you planning to do against a bloody archangel?”

Shadwell frowned. “We Scots r’tougher than ye ken.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen Braveheart.” Crowley shook his head. “Adam’s the literal son of Satan. He’s got half a chance in a fight. I don’t think that thundergun of yours is going to scratch the kind of guys we’ll be fighting. What, are you planning to be a human shield?”

Shadwell shrugged. “If that’s whit ye’ve been payin’ me for…”

“Actually…” Tracey frowned, looking thoughtful. “The two angels did say something specifically about not ‘damaging’ humans.” She hugged Shadwell lightly. “You know I’m not keen on you rushing into danger, love, but if that’s a factor…”

Shadwell grinned, hugged her back enthusiastically. “Aye, Madge, yer barry!”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale desperately. “Talk some sense into these two, will you, Angel?”

“You know, if they’re not willing to hurt humans, that could work in our favor.” Clearly, Aziraphale wasn’t going to be much help in that regard. “Plus, they’re not likely to consider him a threat. I’ll watch out for him.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I cannot _believe_ you’re trying to talk me into this.” And yet… “Fine. Get the thundergun. We might need it. Then get into the car, and no more unexpected adventurers.”

Shadwell raced into the cottage, returning with the thundergun, and put it into the Bentley’s backseat. He hugged Tracey again before getting into the car. “Keep th’ home fires burnin, lass.”

“You know I will,” she replied, blowing him a kiss. “And, all of you, be careful. And bring that baby home safe.”

“We will!” Adam promised.

“Yes, we will,” Crowley echoed, though his tone was a bit darker. “Now hang onto something. Next stop, Brighton.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Surely you aren’t suggesting…”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.” There was an inactive hellmouth in Brighton, but it would take very little effort for Crowley to activate it. “We need to know if Gabby’s rental demon was working alone. If he’s not, they’ll be waiting for me at the front door. But if I use the back door…” He grinned as Aziraphale nodded. “The element of surprise. And, if I play my cards right, I might just be able to use the portal to get all of us to Megiddo in one piece.” That would be trickier, but he was sure he could pull it off. “And then…it’s on.”

Aziraphale smiled, and it was the dangerous smile of a gentle angel who’d been pushed too far. “Oh, it’s most definitely on.”

* * *


	14. Spread Your Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out...I had a lot of real-life things happening (good things, but still things). We're in the home stretch... Thanks, as always, for all your support!

* * *

_Brighton and Hove, England_

“You know,” Adam remarked as they neared Brighton and Hove, “I read once that Brighton has one of the lowest numbers of people who describe themselves as religious of any city in England.”

Crowley shrugged. The trivia meant nothing to him, but Adam – like many humans – liked to search for hidden meaning in things. “Hellmouths sometimes have subtle effects on the area around them, even after they’ve been inactivated. Or maybe it’s just coincidence; I don’t know. Anyhow, it’s near the university.”

Shadwell frowned. “Why would somethin’ loch ‘at be sae close tae a university?”

Crowley snorted. “Well, the hellmouth was there long before the university was.”

“Aye, fair enough.” Shadwell shrugged.

Crowley parked a short walk from the hellmouth, not wanting to risk taking Aziraphale any closer than he had to. Once active, it was going to give off a fair amount of infernal energy. Crowley didn’t know if the residual energy would have the same effect on Aziraphale that setting foot on consecrated ground did for him, but he didn’t want to find out. Aziraphale was healing well so far and they didn’t have time for setbacks. “Adam, you’re with me.” If anyone could handle infernal energy, it’d be the son of Satan. “You two, stay in the car. For real this time.”

“But--” Aziraphale protested.

Crowley cut him off. “But nothing. I don’t know what that thing might _do_ to you once it’s active and you’re still not 100%. Not sure what it does to regular humans, either.” Probably nothing, honestly, but it didn’t hurt to be safe. And it gave him a good excuse to keep Shadwell with Aziraphale. “Adam and I are built for this sort of thing.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You have a point, but what if--”

After so long, Crowley could anticipate Aziraphale’s objection. “If I get into trouble, there’s not much to be done about it from up here. I’ve got the Antichrist to watch the entrance.” He took off his sunglasses for a moment so their eyes could meet directly. “If this goes badly, Liam’s still going to need someone to come for him. I can handle myself down there for a bit; he needs at least one of us safe.”

Aziraphale nodded, slowly, and Crowley knew he wouldn’t be able to argue with that logic. It wasn’t manipulation; it was just facts. “All right. Be safe.”

“That’s the plan.” Crowley opened the car door, pausing to look back at Aziraphale. “If I’m not back in an hour, take the sword and go.” He didn’t wait for confirmation before gesturing for Adam to follow him and walking toward the hellmouth. As hard as Aziraphale might find it to leave him, he trusted that Liam’s safety would be the more pressing concern.

* * *

_Hell_

Activating the hellmouth had been easy; navigating the long-neglected back hallways of Hell was proving harder. Crowley cringed, shaking something he didn’t want to identify off his boots. It would have been so much easier to just use the front door and march into Hell like he owned the place, but he really had no idea what might be awaiting him. It was better to deal with this than walk into a potential ambush.

Beelzebub’s throne room also served as a frequent gathering place for Hell’s lords and dukes, mostly because it was one of the best-maintained areas on that level. There was only one entrance to the room itself, but since Crowley had managed to evade the sentries stationed at the main gates, no one would be expecting him to stroll right in. At least, he hoped not. And Crowley really hoped Hastur was off doing something literally anywhere else, because that was one encounter he was _not_ in the mood for.

Fortunately, Dagon and one of the disposable demons – Eric, they called them? – were the only other ones in the room with Beelzebub when Crowley approached. He strode into the room, glaring; the events of the day, along with the memory of one of the Erics wanting to hit Aziraphale, were more than enough to have him looking irritated. “I thought I was quite explicit with my terms.”

Dagon and Eric actually jumped; Beelzebub merely looked surprised, though wary. 

“Crowley!” Dagon’s eyes were wide. “What the Heaven are you doing here?”

Eric took the opportunity to bolt and Beelzebub’s hand went to their face. “Yes, I’d like to know the same thing. And how did you get past the sentries?”

Crowley shrugged. “Brighton entrance. But – as I said – I believe when we cut ties, I made my terms clear. The angel Aziraphale was supposed to be under my protection.” Their reactions would tell him how much they knew about the situation.

The Lord of Hell greatly valued being in control of nearly any situation, but the scrunched-up nose and outright confusion on Beelzebub’s face suggested they felt exactly the opposite. It was a good sign…mostly. At the very least, it meant they probably hadn’t been involved with the attack. “What in Satan’s cursed name are you talking about?”

Crowley relaxed his posture slightly, though he crossed his arms over his chest. He had Beelzebub off-guard, and Dagon was glancing between the both of them nervously, clearly ready to follow Beelzebub’s lead. It gave him a boost of confidence as he realized that he really was the one in control of this situation, at least for them moment. “The angel was attacked. He said it was a demon who went by Jeff. What do you know about it?”

Dagon frowned. “Jeff. He works down in the Seventh Circle. It certainly wasn’t on _our_ orders. They all cross my desk after the Dark Council signs off.” Beelzebub nodded confirmation and Dagon held up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “If he went after anyone on Earth, especially your pet angel, he’s acting on his own.”

“And any idea _why_ he might be doing that?” Crowley asked.

Beelzebub shrugged. “Jeff’z an idiot. Do what you like with him.”

“Oh, believe me, I will,” Crowley promised. “But there’s an interesting little twist to this. That whole ‘enemy of my enemy’ thing I mentioned awhile back. When’s the last time you talked to Gabriel?”

Beelzebub groaned in disgust. “_Must_ you keep mentioning him in my prezence?”

Crowley snorted. “I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna kick his ass regardless. But, word to the wise, if what’s left of Jeff when I get done with him materializes down here, he might have been working for a certain archangel.” He turned on his heel, planning to strut out the way he came. “Good talk. Hope to never see you again.”

“Crowley,” Beelzebub called out just as he reached the doorway.

Crowley paused, glancing over his shoulder. He swallowed his nervousness; was this the moment they refused to let him leave and this all went pear-shaped? “Yes?”

“If you get your stupid azz discorporated fighting Gabriel…I _may_ be inclined to give you one free pass back.”

Crowley smiled, putting his hands together and bowing to Beelzebub the way he did once, though this time it was considerably more sarcastic. “Your mercy will not be forgotten, most gracious Lord Beelzebub.”

“Yez, whatever. Now get out of my sight.”

* * *

_Brighton and Hove, England_

The hellmouth crackled with power as Crowley walked out, and he shut it down with a wave of his hand. Once the actual gate to Hell was closed, he closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses to get a feel for how much residual energy he had left to work with. Only enough to open a portal once, but that was enough. They could worry about getting back later. 

Adam looked visibly relieved to see him. “What now?”

“Get Aziraphale and Shadwell from the car. I’ll open the portal.” He’d been less sure of this plan earlier, but as the power tingled around his fingertips, he knew it would work. He clenched his fists, drawing it up toward himself, then pushing it back out into space and time and focusing his thoughts on Megiddo. 

It had been literal ages since he’d done this, traveled this way for the benefit of someone whose body was bound by the inconvenient laws of physics. It came back to him with ease, though, and he smiled with satisfaction as the distance between the two points began to feel like putty in his hands. When the others returned, he held out a hand to them. They each took each other’s hands, forming a chain, and stepped into the portal, ready to face whatever they might find on the other side.

* * *

_Megiddo, Israel_

Exiting the portal was always a bit more disconcerting than entering, but Crowley thought Adam and Shadwell handled it pretty well for their first trip. Aziraphale shook it off with practiced ease, pulling his sword and holding it ready. The steel gleamed brilliantly in the sunlight. Crowley wondered if this fight was the exact reason Aziraphale had been gifted with the sword; he certainly wouldn’t have put it past the Almighty. Especially not after their conversation earlier…

In a movie, this might have been the comic relief moment where they arrived to find the opposition tied up and Lilith calmly playing with Liam, asking what took them so long. But this wasn’t a movie, and instead Gabriel was holding a screaming, flailing toddler while Lilith tussled with Zachariel. Though she did look up as she briefly gained the upper hand in the fight, asking, “What took you so long?!”

Aziraphale made a dark, angry noise and tightened his grip on the sword. As he did, the blade lit up with a brilliant blue flame. He still held onto his human form, but in every other sense of the term, he had become an avenging angel. “Gabriel.”

“Aziraphale. Hello.” Gabriel looked vaguely surprised at best, and the fact that he didn’t seem worried about Aziraphale’s righteous fury only went to show how deeply he underestimated Aziraphale. Which was a good thing, for them. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to kill the little abomination.”

“I’m guessing because you don’t know how,” Crowley pointed out. They honestly had no idea about Liam’s inborn resistance to both hellfire and holy water, but it was fair to assume they wouldn’t hurt him. And it was also fair to assume Gabriel had come to the same conclusion.

Gabriel ignored Crowley. Which was as much confirmation as Crowley needed to figure he’d been right. Typical head office angel, only considering the supernatural ways of going about such a thing. But, as Crowley was still firmly against harming children, he was absolutely not going to point out that human children weren’t all that difficult to injure. “We’ll be taking over his upbringing now, that’s all. He’ll be absolutely safe.”

“You won’t make him your pawn.” The calmer Aziraphale began to sound, the more afraid of him everyone should have been. Crowley would have been _terrified_ if that were directed at him. 

Lilith and Zachariel seemed to have reached a stalemate in their physical tussle, and they’d backed off, still watching each other with a ready stance. “As if you haven’t been a demon’s pawn this whole time.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, please. He’s at least seventy-five percent of my impulse control. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably have burned most of London down by now.” If nothing else, he could provide a distraction. He glanced at Lilith, wordlessly inviting her to jump in.

Lilith raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t you, in 1666?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “That was not entirely my fault. And, frankly, you’re one to talk, after Ohio—”

Gabriel frowned. “Excuse me, can we get back to the matter at hand?” He shifted his grip on Liam, who was now squirming and wailing as he tried to get to Aziraphale. “If you’d just stand down, we can discuss—”

“We won’t be discussing anything until you return my son to me.” Aziraphale hadn’t so much as blinked at the banter, yet another warning about his single-minded focus that Gabriel and his crew were likely going to ignore.

Gabriel shot an annoyed look at him. “Your _son_ shouldn’t even exist.”

Crowley snorted. “Yeah, and whose fault is _that_? All you had to say was, ‘Hey, Aziraphale, by the way, we totally fucked with your angelic power so this could happen, so'—”

“Watch your tongue, demon,” Zachariel snapped, cutting him off.

Crowley grinned, cheerfully sticking his tongue out and wiggling it at him. Any other time, that would have earned him a reproachful look from Aziraphale, but the angel didn’t even glance at him.

Adam was a smart kid, and he stepped up beside Crowley, following his lead. If they could get the angels heated – and realizing they were outnumbered at this moment – they might be able to gain an upper hand before any more blows were exchanged. “He’s a baby. I know you all got created and everything the way you were, so maybe you don’t get it, but…listen to him. He just wants his daddy.”

As if to prove Adam’s point, Liam took a breath and paused his crying long enough to call, “Abba!” as he tried to reach for Aziraphale again.

“Yes, he’s a child,” Gabriel agreed, “and so it’s up to us to guide him. It’s not about what he wants, it’s what he needs. A hybrid like this is dangerously unpredictable—”

“For you,” Crowley interjected.

Gabriel pointedly ignored him. “—and so, for the greater good, we need to take him.”

“What abit workin’ wi’ demons, en?” Shadwell asked, his grip on the thundergun tightening as he stepped forward as well. “Izzat for the greater good?”

“Apparently, they thought my death would be.” Aziraphale’s voice was low, nearly a growl. 

Zachariel snarled. “Our associate wasn’t specifically instructed to use brute force. We didn’t authorize him to kill anyone.” He also didn’t look like it would have bothered him if it ended that way. “In fact, we made sure humans would be unharmed.”

“He’s human, at least in part,” Adam pointed out. “You’re scared of him because you have no idea what he is.”

“We can end this peacefully.” The flame faded from Aziraphale’s sword and he lowered it to a ready stance, but not a fighting one. “I’m willing to let bygones be bygones as long as Liam’s safe.”

Crowley wasn’t – he still had asses to kick – but he’d wait until Liam and Aziraphale were safely out of the way if this went smoothly. “And where is Jeff now? Running scared?”

Apparently, that was the right thing to say to get Gabriel’s demon associate to come out of hiding. With an indignant hiss, Jeff jumped from behind an outcropping of rocks, launching himself at Crowley. The only thing he had on his side was the element of surprise; Crowley went down under Jeff’s weight, but came up swinging. 

It was the catalyst for everything to explode into motion. Adam rushed toward Gabriel, managing to catch him off-guard enough to loosen his grip on Liam. Rather than continuing the attack, Adam pulled the toddler away from Gabriel, shoving him into Lilith’s arms. 

“I got him, Azi, go!” Lilith called out, cradling Liam close as she raced toward her car. Zachariel wasn’t ready to let her get away so fast, however, and he went after her again. She had just enough time to hand Liam to Shadwell before they were locked in hand-to-hand combat.

“Hush now, laddie.” Shadwell bounced Liam, pulling the Pooh bear out of his coat pocket; Aziraphale must have handed it to him at some point. “Here’s yer bear; you’ll be back wi’ yer daddy soon.” 

Crowley could barely keep track of who was where, as occupied as he was with his own fight. Jeff was smaller than he was, but scrappy and quick. He saw Adam running toward Lilith’s car, Shadwell following, and then he was thrown to the ground again. He kicked Jeff’s legs out from under him, scrambling up just in time to see Aziraphale’s rage come into full bloom as he squared off with Gabriel. The sword was flaming again and he manifested his wings onto Earth’s plane, making it clear that he was not about to be dismissed.

Shadwell stopped and watched, temporarily awed. “Well, that’s a sight to behold.”

“Don’t be too impressed,” Crowley called out. As breathtaking as Aziraphale’s wings could be, Crowley knew this was just the beginning of the fight. “Those are just the top two.” Another blow delivered to Jeff’s face, another received to his ribs… “When he pulls out all six, then you’ll know it’s gotten serious.”

* * *

Jeff had been easy enough to defeat. He was determined, but in the end, he had made the fatal mistake of underestimating his opponent. Crowley rarely had occasion to call upon his raw strength, but it was hardly something he lacked. He’d discorporated Jeff quickly once he’d gained the upper hand.

That was when the chaos really erupted. Gabriel and Aziraphale were locked in battle. Though Aziraphale hardly gave off the vibe of someone who would be deadly with a sword in his everyday life, he certainly was, and he and Gabriel were matching each other move for move. Crowley watched for an angle to move in and help, but Aziraphale clearly had it under control for the time being. 

Zachariel was obviously a trained warrior, and while Lilith had been holding her own for awhile in the fight, the young archangel was beginning to wear her down. Adam had then jumped in to help his mother tag-team Zachariel, and they were keeping him busy.

That left Crowley free to survey the situation, watching for a moment in which he might intervene – and also keep an eye on Shadwell, who had Liam in his arms and was trying to shield him from seeing most of the fight. Liam squirmed, clutching his bear with one arm and reaching for Crowley with the other. “Cawwy!”

Crowley ruffled the boy’s blond curls. “Hang on, kid. Have fun with Uncle Witchfinder. Your dad might need some – gah!” The help he’d worried Aziraphale might need was becoming apparent as Gabriel knocked Aziraphale back with a well-placed blow and Aziraphale’s weapon went flying. “Aziraphale!”

Shadwell gasped. “Curse me kilts…ye’ve gotta help ‘im!”

As if Crowley had any other plans. “Gotcha, Scrooge McDuck, just get the kid out of here!” Crowley raced forward, rolling to grab the sword before anyone could. The note that had come with it said anyone could wield it after all; it just wouldn’t flame for anyone not meant to have it. That was fine; Crowley could provide his own flames if he needed them. 

“Back down, demon,” Gabriel warned, his grip on his own sword tightening.

Crowley glanced to Aziraphale to be sure he was all right; the blow had been dangerously close to the site of his recent injury. Aziraphale had been stunned by the hit, but he was getting to his feet. Crowley nodded, satisfied, and turned to face Gabriel. His grip on the sword tightened, and the blade lit up with blue flame. 

“Crowley…” Aziraphale’s tone was filled with awe.

Crowley glanced at the flame, wide-eyed for a moment. The implications of it were too much to process at the moment, but if this weapon had been meant for him as well, so be it. He laughed, a cackle that started low in his throat and grew. “Oh, you are _so_ fucked now.”

* * *


	15. Don't Stop Me Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it's been awhile, hasn't it? My apologies; life has been a whirlwind lately. Flu season is always wild at work (I'm a pediatric nurse), but I'm also in grad school and, obviously, recent events have been hectic. But I appreciate all of you who have commented and left kudos, and I'm happy to start wrapping this tale up. I also have another in the works, so stay tuned. The one benefit of going absolutely nowhere on my days off is that I have fewer excuses not to write... Hope you enjoy, and stay safe and healthy out there!

* * *

Truthfully, Crowley’s preferred weapon had always been a bow and arrow, but thanks to several long-ago training sessions with Aziraphale, he was perfectly competent with a sword. Gabriel even took a step back as the sword flamed, watching Crowley warily.

“Oh, that’s right.” Crowley laughed, still caught up in the glee of being able to gain a quick upper hand. He had no idea if Gabriel knew anything about his Fall, but knowing what he did now, Crowley was willing to wield any bit of knowledge that might keep the archangel off-balance. Especially because Adam had Zachariel’s full attention and Lilith was taking advantage of that, sneaking around to get the drop on Gabriel from behind. If Crowley could keep Gabriel distracted, focused on him, he might not have to use the sword at all. And it would give Aziraphale a chance to get back on his feet. “Heaven’s sacrificial lamb has a few tricks up his sleeve after all. What do you think of _that_, Gabby?”

Gabriel’s gaze flickered briefly to Zachariel, as if to check in, before he focused on Crowley once more. “Everything I’ve ever done has been for –”

“What, the ‘greater good?’” Crowley mocked. “Don’t give me that tired line. We only asked to be left alone.”

“The circumstances changed,” Gabriel argued, his grip on his sword tightening. “The hybrid –”

“Only exists because _you_ got impatient,” Crowley snapped. “And, seriously, look at him! He’s a literal child.”

“Children grow,” Gabriel countered. “And the raising – ”

“Will be a lot better off without you,” Crowley growled. He raised the sword, as if ready to strike, just as Lilith moved into position. As she dove to tackle Gabriel, Crowley spun around. “Angel, heads up!” As soon as Aziraphale – who was indeed back on his feet – glanced his direction, Crowley tossed him the sword. Aziraphale moved to catch it expertly.

Zachariel had managed to extricate himself from the fight with Adam, and he scoffed at Aziraphale. “You may have been _made_ for defense, but have you kept that up? What is it Crowley calls you again, a cupcake?”

Crowley opened his mouth to defend Aziraphale, but the angel was quick to stand up for himself. “It’s different when it’s meant in love.” Good for him. Aziraphale assessed the young archangel, who had already underestimated him, and made his move quickly. Before Zachariel could get his weapon into position, Aziraphale had him pinned, the sword up and ready to strike. Crowley knew Aziraphale had no desire to kill anyone, even _that_ cocky prick, but he was sure his angel wouldn’t hesitate if Liam’s fate depended on it. 

And it just might, as Liam – being a toddler, with absolutely zero understanding of timing or restraint – broke free from Shadwell and started running toward him. “Cawwy!”

“Shit!” Crowley was free and started running for the boy, but Gabriel was closer and shook Lilith off to grab him first. Crowley hissed, low and angry, his hair curling to resemble horns as his eyes went full serpent and his fangs shifted into the earthly plane. “Don’t make me say this again, Gabriel. Let go of my son.” The words were out of his mouth before he even thought twice, surprising him. But wasn’t it true? Not just biologically, but…as much as he’d fought it, he’d come to love this kid as much as Aziraphale or the Bentley. 

“Oh, Crowley!” Aziraphale softened for just a moment, before he was quickly reminded of the advantage he had when Zachariel squirmed under him, trying to get free. In a second, Aziraphale was pure defender again, holding the sword at a deadly angle. “We can end this without bloodshed, Gabriel, but it will be your choice.”

Gabriel made an alarmed noise, so quiet Crowley nearly missed it. He looked worried, nodding. “All right. Let him go.” He set Liam down, watching to be sure Aziraphale backed off of Zachariel. 

Crowley moved to scoop Liam up. “Hey, kid.” He tangled his fingers in the blond curls, holding him close as Liam cried into his shoulder. “I got you. You’re okay.” Aziraphale was at his side in a moment, hugging them both, and Crowley couldn’t have cared less about anyone else. As soon as he looked around to be sure that Gabriel and Zachariel were gone, his focus was on Aziraphale and the kid. He shifted Liam to his hip, pulling Aziraphale close and kissing him firmly before he had a chance to reconsider it. Aziraphale stiffened in surprise at first, but he melted against Crowley, returning the kiss in full force. Liam squeaked as he was smashed between them when the kiss deepened, and Aziraphale pulled away with a chuckle.

“Sorry, lamb.” Aziraphale took Liam into his arms, looking him over and holding the boy tightly. 

“Well, then.” Lilith chuckled as she joined them. “It’s about damn time, you two.”

Crowley scowled at her, though his heart wasn’t really in it. He was too high on both the thrill of victory and the rush of that kiss he’d been fantasizing about for thousands of years. “Shut up.”

Adam and Shadwell hurried over as well, both grinning wildly. “We did it!” The Antichrist was elated, rocking on his feet from heel to toe in his excitement. Funny, he hadn’t seemed this thrilled after the Apocalypse…but, then, they’d all been a bit too stunned to revel in the moment back then. 

“Aye, we sent ‘em runnin’!” Shadwell patted Aziraphale’s arm enthusiastically as he smiled at Liam. “Nae a scratch on the wee bairn.”

“No, he’s perfect.” Aziraphale nuzzled his cheek against Liam’s as the little boy settled his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder, blinking sleepily.

“And we didn’t even have to use a human shield.” Crowley grinned. He couldn’t let the moment get too maudlin, after all. “Come on, let’s go home.”

Adam looked at him curiously. “Speaking of which, how were we planning to do that? The portal’s closed.”

Lilith snorted. “Are you kidding? We’re in _Megiddo._ This place has enough ambient supernatural energy to light Hell for a week.”

“Not surprising…but how do you propose we harness it?” Aziraphale asked, rubbing Liam’s back as the boy began to drift to sleep.

Lilith grinned at him. “Don’t worry, Azi-bear. You just leave that part to me.”

* * *

The Lamborghini Diablo had only been designed to seat two, but with a bit of creativity and a little demonic transformation, they were able to fit all of them inside. The arrangement certainly wouldn’t have passed many safety or legal standards, but in the middle of the desert, no one was going to be questioning them, either. It was almost a pity; Crowley would have loved to see the look on the face of any officer who pulled them over to find Aziraphale and Shadwell sharing a seat, with Adam in Shadwell’s lap, Liam snoozing in Aziraphale’s arms, and a large black snake draped over Aziraphale’s shoulders. And Lilith would of course pretend as if nothing were at all strange about the situation.

“So, explain this one mair time, lass…” Shadwell frowned, clearly a bit skeptical about the plan.

“You ever seen Back to the Future?” Lilith asked. 

“The one wi’ that bampot scientist an’ the loon that dated his mammy?”

Lilith shrugged. “Er…close enough. Anyhow – car, energy, lightning rod, temporary portal. Boom.”

Adam grinned at his mother. “Does the portal open when we hit 88 miles an hour?”

She patted his cheek. “Damn right it does, baby.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That seems like a rather arbitrary number.”

Crowley sighed at both his inability to comment for the moment and the fact that Aziraphale’s knowledge of pop culture ended somewhere around the silent film era. He did, however, take the opportunity to flick his tongue against Aziraphale’s earlobe, enjoying the way the angel wriggled and tried to ignore him. 

Lilith turned the keys in the ignition, the car’s radio coming to life with David Bowie’s “The London Boys.” “Hold onto something, now. It’s showtime.”

* * *


	16. Princes of the Universe

* * *

The Diablo exited the portal precisely where Lilith had intended it to, outside of Crowley and Aziraphale’s cottage. The Bentley had also brought itself home, as Crowley had trained it to do decades ago if left unattended for too long. Lilith grinned at her passengers. “And here we are. Everyone who’s staying in England, this is your stop. Thank you for riding the Morningstar Express.”

Though a short trip, it had definitely been cramped, and so they were all quick to climb out of the car. Crowley shifted back into his human form, stretching as his spine settled back into place. He summoned a new pair of sunglasses into his hand, putting them on as he smiled at Lilith. “Where are you off to, then?”

“Me?” Lilith shrugged. “I’m just heading home.”

“To Tel Aviv?” Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose as he settled Liam onto his shoulder, bouncing the sleeping toddler gently. “I assume you’re going by way of Brighton. It’s the closest place I can think of that would have enough ambient energy to bring you back the way we came.”

“The hellmouth?” Lilith shook her head, scoffing lightly. “No thanks. It’s been a long day and the last place I want to go is anywhere that reminds me of my ex.” She smiled sweetly at Adam. “No offense, honey, but your father is a complete jackass.”

Adam didn’t appear to be terribly bothered by that. “Well, he’s literally the devil, so…” He frowned thoughtfully. “Long drive back to Israel, though, isn’t it?”

Lilith nodded. “About three days. But it’ll be fun. It’s been awhile since I’ve had a decent road trip. And maybe I’ll pop in on Vedmak while I’m in Bulgaria. It’s been ages since we hung out.”

Crowley had no idea who she was talking about – and, frankly, if it didn’t affect his life, he didn’t care. “Well, you have fun. Ciao.” It was an abrupt goodbye, but he was sure they’d be seeing her again soon enough, and all he wanted to do at the moment was settle down inside with his angel and the kid. _Their_ kid. It was all so weirdly domestic – and, yet, he wasn’t displeased. “Come on, Angel…let’s get inside.”

Lilith chuckled, looking at Adam and Shadwell. “Well, it’s still a tight squeeze, but if you want, I’ll drop you two home on my way.”

Crowley didn’t stick around to see if they took her up on the offer. He headed into the cottage, waiting on the couch while Aziraphale settled Liam into bed, then curled up to Aziraphale as soon as the angel joined him. He frowned, though, and pulled back when Aziraphale stiffened. “Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s frown mirrored Crowley’s. “I’m sorry, truly. It’s just…everything you said back there. The kiss. Did you mean it was it just the exhilaration of the moment?”

If this hadn’t been so typically Aziraphale, second-guessing everything, Crowley might have been offended. “Are you kidding me? I kissed you in front of literally everyone who was with us and you want to know if it was real?”

Aziraphale brought his hands together, interlacing his fingers and fidgeting with them in that endearing way he did when he was feeling uncertain. “I don’t mean to question you, Crowley, but…it’s just…I can’t allow myself to embrace all those feelings if it’s going to be taken away when you’ve regained your senses. My heart couldn’t take it.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laughing. “You are _ridiculous._ I’ve been wanting to kiss you like that since…I don’t know, maybe I started thinking about it in Rome, but _definitely_ since Paris and the crepes, and you want to know when I’m going to ‘regain my senses’?”

A blush quickly rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks. “My dear boy…you’ve really felt that way this long? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Crowley shook his head, but he couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed. “Oh, I don’t know, a demon in love with an angel, back when we pretended to give a damn about who we worked for – sure, that’s a recipe for success. What did you want me to say, hmm, just come out with ‘Aziraphale, I’m madly in love with you and I’ve been trying to talk myself out of it for decades’? I’m sure that would have gone over well.”

“Like a lead balloon, probably,” Aziraphale murmured, and if Crowley had any doubt that he was quoting their first meeting, it would have been erased as soon as he saw Aziraphale’s tiny smirk. “That’s fair.”

“Now, you.” Crowley couldn’t deny that he was curious. “Since it’s sharing time, exactly how long have you felt the same way?”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened in the most charming way, and he cuddled closer to Crowley. “I suppose I was trying to deny it for all the same reasons. I was sure of it in Paris, as well, but…I couldn’t allow myself to even imagine you could ever feel the same until the Blitz. When you came for me in that church…” He pressed his head against Crowley’s shoulder.

“Ah, yes, the Nazis vs the idiot bookseller,” Crowley teased, curling his fingers in Aziraphale’s hair. “Unfortunately for them, you’re _my_ idiot and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“And you’re mine.” Aziraphale smiled tenderly, kissing Crowley’s cheek just as Liam – clearly awake now – started calling for them from his room.

“And he’s ours.” Crowley still couldn’t believe he was allowing himself to think of Liam that way, as much as he’d fought it, but he supposed it was inevitable. Or, as Aziraphale probably would have put it, _ineffable_. He stood, reluctant to extricate himself from Aziraphale, but knowing he’d be back. “I’ve got him. No rest for the wicked, eh?”

Aziraphale chuckled softly. “Suppose not. But I still say you’re not as wicked as you’d like to think.”

Crowley shot him a look from Liam’s doorway. “And you’re not as pure as you want everyone to think, either. S’why I like you.” He scooped Liam up, tossing the boy over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, much to Liam’s delight, then deposited him in Aziraphale’s lap. “All right, L.B., settle down now. It’s cuddle time.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re not really going to keep calling him that now, are you?”

“Why not?” Crowley shrugged, feigning innocence. “It’s just his initials…”

Liam, clearly on board with the idea of cuddle time, firmly situated himself between them both. He looked down at his lap, however, frowning as he seemed to notice something missing. “Bear-Bear?”

Crowley sighed, just about to get up again to get the stuffed bear from the crib, when Liam made a gesture with his tiny hand and the bear appeared instantly. Crowley laughed, looking at Aziraphale. “Well, how about that?”

Aziraphale’s smile was every bit the proud parent. “It looks like he’s beginning to get a handle on his powers.”

“Baby’s first miracle.” Crowley grinned, ruffling Liam’s soft curls. “Good job, kid. Next, you can learn to change your own diapers.” 

He was in too good of a mood to be bothered at all when Aziraphale tossed a small pillow at his head for that one.

_The End (of the story – but not, at least, of the world…)_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a ride...thank you all so much! I'll be posting the first part of a new story that I've been having way too much fun with soon...but I swore to myself I'd get this one finished first.


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